
Book*lUb 



I 

PROS AID CONS, 

FOR 






CUP IB and HYMEJrf^ 

IN A SERIES OF 

METRICAL SATIRIC DIALOGUES. 

EXHIBITING 

THE HORRORS AND DELIGHTS 

OF BEING 

OVER HEAD AND EARS IN LOVE; 

WITH 

THE SUPREME FELICITY AND WRETCHEDNESS 

OF 

MATRIMONY. 

TO WHICH ARE ADDED, 

SEVERAL OTHER PIECES. 



—/ 

BY JENKIN JONES, 

Author of " Hobby-Horses," and " The" Philanthropist ;" 
and Editor of " Love and Satire." 



11 Pro and Con by Turns.". „... PRIOR, 

" Cave de Nuptiij." TERENCE . 

" These are the charming Agonies of Love, whefe Miiery delights." 

THOMSON. 

m ♦' # 

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY M, ALLEN, 

No, 15, Paternoster-Row. 

' 1807. 



* 



TL. 



TO THE 



RIGHT HONORABLE 
LORD VISCOUNT MELVILLE. 

MY LORD, 

-Having experienced many marks 
of your goodness, I embrace with peculiar 
satisfaction this occasion of presenting to your 
Lordship a public testimony of respect and 
gratitude; and though, while I offer, I can- 
not but perceive the inadequacy of such ac- 
knowledgments to express the feelings I am 
anxious to convey, still, as I have no other 
mode of testifying my deep sense of obliga- 
tion, I request to be indulged with the per- 
mission of inscribing to your name the present 
humble little Volume. 

"While I venture to entreat a lenient consi- 
deration for the many imperfections of the 
following Pieces, let me assure your Lordship 
they were chiefly written under circumstances 
highly unpropitious to all literary under- 
takings. 



DEDICATION* 

Engaged in melancholy" occupations that 
doomed me, in the worst of climates, a per- 
petual witness of distressing scenes — compel- 
led, in sickness, to contend with duties that 
tried me far beyond the measure of my 
strength — exposed to all the dangers and the 
perils, and annoyed by all the hardships, ills, 
and disagreeables, inseparable from my situa- 
tion, I felt much need of consolation, and 
sought, in literary relaxation, an abstraction 
from those anxieties, and a relief from that in- 
sufferable tedium peculiar to the wretch who 
languishes in exile from his native country. 

If a perusal of the following trifles, thus 
written to assuage a weight of cares, afford 
your Lordship entertainment in a leisure 
hour, I shall derive from that consideration a 
most genuine sense of satisfaction* 



I am, with great respect, 

Your Lordship's much obliged 
And grateful servant, 

Xerimngton JENKIN JONES. 

I 1 to, 9, loU/t 



CONTENTS. 



,P PAGE 

A reface to Pros and Cons 5 

Dialogue I. O'er Head and Ears in Love 57 

II. Welcome Flirtation 66 

III. The Cure" 73 

IV. Love's Exile g- 

V. Why don't you marry ? 93 

VI. Why did I marry? I03 

VII. Deuce take my Spouse .*. II3 

VIII. God bless my Wife 12 g 

Phaon to Sappho 

rr 139 

Boileau's Eighth Satire, freely translated I45 

The White Man's Gratitude, a Negro Tale- l6l 

Dialogue IX. On leaving School , , „ 

Lines to the Memory of Lord Andover I9J 

Address to a Crooked Flute '. Iq g 

To a Lady-Bird 



201 

Prologue written at the Re-opening of the Bombay 

Theatre 206 

Epilogue spoken on the same Occasion by Major 

Hawkes 

• 205 

Lines written in a Cave 

210 

How to make Love 

••••■•••••»• 212 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Elegy 215 

Burlesque Prologue to Venice Preserv'd .*■ 217 

Burlesque Epilogue to the same • 220 

Elegy •»••• 223 

An Address spoken at the St. Helena Theatre 225 

Lines to the Memory of Mr. George Manage - 224. 

An Occasional Epilogue in the Character of Tom 

Thumb 227 

Lines written in a Garden, adorned with Monuments 
and Inscriptions, where the Bust of Dryden 

stood alone neglected 228 

The Earth-King 229 

The Air-King 231 

Julia's Bower ■ • 247 

Lines written in a Music-Book, half devoured by 

Mice • 249 

To a Mother, who mourns her Son who perished in a 

Hurricane 250 

To a Snail • 253 

Elegy upon a beautiful White Norwegian Cat, called 

Tom Vinegar 256 

How to lose a Dinner 259 

How to get a Dinner • • 265 

The Last Resource • 274 

Verses upon a Prize Epigrammatic Theme, given out 

at Westmister School, by Dr. Smith 276 

Epigram 278 

Upon the Marriage of Mr. Bird, aged 70, to Miss 

Lamb, aged 19 ....... , jbia. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Epigram on Clara's intended Marriage with a Fop * 79 

Lines to an Ugly Prude „ g 

The Comparison 2 g 

To ProfessoF St rt, on his Comparison 283 

To the same « 

How to find a Man at Home jfoj 

Lines to an Egotist and Vain Boaster 2 g- 

The Retort Courteous t 2 g fi 

French Epigram ag 

Imitated * Q9 

The same Parodied •, • . 

" To Err is Human 1 ' k ^^ 

To Ho Pe 29 o 

A Drunkard's Apology 



ERRATA. 

Page Line 

io 27 for my Preceptor.1t/4j, read my Preceptor is alas ! ao friend. 

22 4 < — ci divant, read ci decant. 

59 11 — of the Pit, read in the Pit. 

60 20 — critict, read critics. 

67 4 after the Speech of Nannette, read that of Biddy. 

78 23 for childless, read childish, 

80 1 for <z^, read face. 

85 11 — gT'V/i read gr/*/j, 

87 11 —dependent, read despondent. 

92 6 — many nation's, read many <t nation's, 
136 9 —for found, read bound. 

l2o 25 — sincere, read severe. 

188 16 — a period put a comma after gape, 

*95 3 — '^* re t ^ e ' 

197 26 — a comma at the end, put a note of interrogation. 

28 — a note ©f interrogation, put a comma. 

200 21 — anguid, read languid, 

206 19 — virtuous, read beauteous, 

207 10 — unstrug, read unstrung. 

224 3 — /£* untimely bier, read /£* untimely bier. 

229 19 read ra#v sses, 

230 25 for &•#£, read back, 

253 last line, for hour, read #0#j*. 



PREFACE. 



Almost every subject admits of being placed 
in two opposite points of view: one advan- 
tageous, the other unfavourable. It is pos- 
sible to say something for and against almost 
every thing. This consideration induced the 
ancients, a wise, discreet, judicious people, 
never to pronounce a decision until they had 
patiently heard, and deliberately weighed all 
that could be said on both sides of a ques- 
tion.— u Audi alteram partem" formerly ex- 
claimed the Romans : " Let us hear the Pros 
and Cons of the business," now exclaim, in 
vile Dog-Latin, the less classical, but equally 
discreet and prudent English. 

Few subjects afford more latitude for diffe- 
rence of opinion than Love and Matrimony. 
Whether to fall in love and marry are " con- 
summations devoutly to be wished," or evils 
to be much deplored and sedulously shunned, 
are questions worthy of mature deliberation. 

It is common for persons who possess wa- 
vering minds, and feel distrustful of their 

6 



VI PREFACE TO 

own sagacity, to go for counsel to their friends. 
But in matters of love, they generally ask ad- 
vice, without submitting to be governed by 
it ; it appears lost labour then to counsel 
lovers : and yet it ought to be considered our 
incumbent duty to point out all the advan- 
tages and disadvantages that may accrue from 
the indulgence of their headstrong passions. 
If a traveller desires a peasant to direct him 
on his journey, and is informed he may go 
two different roads, one to the right hand, 
short, safe, and agreeable, and another to the 
left, long, dangerous, and unpleasant : if, in- 
stead of turning to the right, and pacing 
flowery meadows, verdant slopes, and fruit- 
ful vallies, he chooses to take the left, to 
clamber craggy precipices, barren rocks, and 
rugged cliffs, or w r ade through bogs and wan- 
der in a wilderness of thorns and thistles ; 
shall the traveller reproach the man who gave 
him true directions, and so kindly warned 
him of his danger ? 

I have lately returned from holding a sur- 
rey on the roads that lead to the Temples of 
Cupid and Hymen. I found them wonder- 
fully various ; some gay, fertile, safe, and de- 
lightful, others dull, dreary, barren, dange- 
rous, and disagreeable, I thought it there- 
fore advisable to compose a few charts for 



PROS AM> CON3. Yll 

the instruction of travellers, in order that 
they may choose the routes that best befit 
their taste or inclinations, when disposed to 
take excursions to the land of wedlock. 

These, with becoming diffidence, and all 
due deference, I now take the liberty of sub- 
mitting to the consideration of the public ; 
hoping my little volume may prove as accept- 
able to the moral, as Mr. Patterson's great 
book of the roads proves useful to the physi- 
cal traveller. But instead of going on with 
my Preface, I shall now beg leave to substi- 
tute the following Epistles, being both appli- 
cable to the subject : the first written by a 
young recluse, ignorant of life ; the second 
"by a person more acquainted with the ways 
of the world. 



b2 



V1U PREFACE TO 

JULIUS, a Lad from the Country, 

to 

MARCUS, a Man of the Town.. 



SIR, 

JLhere are many cases in which 
learned youths are not ashamed to consult the 
opinions of men possessing little erudition, 
but extensive knowledge of mankind, Never 
was there a being more secluded from society 
than I have been; but as I am just emerging 
from the obscure solitude to which the cruel 
prejudices of a tyrant sternly doomed me, I 
am anxious now to fit myself for the delights 
of social intercourse — how to qualify myself 
so as to converse upon a par with persons ra- 
tionally educated, appears extremely difficulty 
these sad reflections, Sir, afford me much cha- 
grin, and self-humiliation ; for, to confess the 
truth, with all my learning, I begin to feel 
myself a most untutored savage. Will you he 
so obliging as to consider me a Bear, and have 
the kindness to begin taming me as soon as 
possible? for asT burn with a desire of mixing 
much in company, I wish to learn so to be- 
have myself, that 1 may not get severely baited. 



PROS AND CON*. IX 

I have been recommended lor this purpose to 
study Chesterfield, but as I have been inform'd 
be declares every man that laughs is a fooi; 
that every woman will swallow down a dose 
of flattery, however nauseously compounded; 
and that no gentleman should be a musician ; 
I conclude he must be either a fool, a madman 
or an ignoramus, for giving cou ncils, thorough ly 
repugnant to the principles of nature, taste, and 
reason. I therefore shall not trouble him for 
his tuition, wishing to be polished by a hand 
that will not rub out all good natural feelings, 
obtund my poignant sensibilities, and wear 
out all my principles. 

I have already acknowledged the deficien- 
cies under which I labour, and my incompe- 
tence at present to appear in civilized society. 
I casually hinted at the cause of being such a 
savage, and now beg leave more fully to ac- 
count for it. Losing my parents in infancy, I 
was consigned to the care of a distant relation, 
who in his meridian of life retired from society 
in deep disgust, and to confess a melancholy 
truth, became so tinctured with misanthropy 
that he renounced all commerce with the world. 
He was a scholar, and to superintend my edu- 
cation became his only occupation. I was 
strictly limited to works of science, and 
grounded well in the classics, mathematics, 
mechanics, natural philosophy, and natural 
b 3 



-X PREFACE TO 

history. I should observe, though, that I was 
permitted only to read such Latin, Greek, 
Italian, French and German authors, as simply 
wrote on science. Bion and Moschus, Homer, 
Horace, Virgil, and more particularly Ovid 
and Anacreon, were proscribed. As I was 
debarred the reading of such books as treat 
on men and manners, and had no living com- 
panion but my Guardian, I became as ignorant 
as a beast of this world, and all its transac- 
tions. To convey to you some idea of the 
tutor under whom I was brought up, I beg 
to mention one brief anecdote ; for I think it 
may afford a comprehensive notion of his cha- 
racter. As we were one day walking over his 
grounds, I found the fragment of a letter 
written by a Father to his Son: it was couched 
in language the most truly pathetic and affec- 
tionate : it contained many remonstrances urg'd 
with benignant mildnesss, and pregnant with 
most lively proofs of tender care and fatherly 
affection. I felt a train of new-born sentiments 
engendered in my mind, my soul appeared to 
undergo a revolution. I was alike delighted 
and affected, and felt a tear stream down my 
cheek as I inwardly exclaimed, " Would I had 
such a friend and father. My preceptor, alas! 
was no friend." 

The reproaches contained in this letter 
seemed to have been called forth by the com- 
plaints of a tutor, who had represented hia 



PHOfl AND CONS. XI 

pupil as obstinately averse to all instruction. 
The father endeavoured to awaken the sensi- 
bility and stimulate the pride of his son, by 
representing the contemptible figure he would 
make amongst his companions, if he neglected 
to acquire that knowledge and those accom- 
plishments which are necessary to qualify a 
man to live in civilized society. After enu- 
merating the various branches of a liberal edu- 
cation, he recommended, amongst other things, 
the studies of history and geography, not only 
as pleasing sources of relaxation from more 
laborious pursuits; but also as attainments in- 
dispensibly requisite for every gentleman. 
Here ended these paternal instruction*, for the 
remainder of the letter (so little was the wri- 
ter valued) had apparently been used as fed-* 
der for a fowling-piece. As I felt the utmost 
reverence for this benevolent and philosophical 
preceptor, I was resolved to treasure all his 
Valuable admonitions in my breast. I felt gra- 
tified to think that my education tallied pre- 
cisely with his advice, as far as it related to 
the acquirement of sciences and languages ; 
but I was much confounded and chagrined to 
find myself kept in total ignorance as to some 
most material branches of a gentleman's edu- 
cation. I communicated my feelings to my 
guardian, and entreated I might be furnished 
with means to accomplish myself in such at- 
tainment^. To my request, urged with much 
b 4 



X*l PREFACE TO 

eagerness and importunity, the misanthrope 
made this reply: " What, Sir, you wish to 
multiply your studies, and increase your 
knowledge by reading histories, and poring 
over maps and globes. I shall consent to no 
such wanton waste of valuable time. What 
more can you learn by perusing histories of 
men, than I have long since taught you? 
What, but that from the creation of the world 
they have been ever base, tyrannical, and 
treacherous; vindictive, cruel, and deceitful: 
that they are even growing worse in these de- 
generate days, and go on deteriorating in a 
degree of progress'on that keeps pace with the 
increase of knowledge, y/ealth, power, and 
civilization. Are you not satisfied to be as- 
sured by me that men are villains ? As for 
geography, I cannot comprehend why you 
should wish to study it. What behoves it 
you to know the various boundaries and rela- 
tive positions of countries, that are infested 
with innumerable hordes of savages, with whom 
you never are designed to hold the smallest 
intercourse? You, like myself, are doomed to 
live in ciose seclusion from the world, and your 
knowledge of geography shall never be ex- 
tended beyond the limits of that domain on 
which we now exist. Your studies are already 
sufficiently numerous and important. Your 
pursuits are such as should exalt you to a 
contemplation of a glorious Creator, and de- 



PliOri AND CON?. Xlll 

tach you from the consideration of men, his 
most unworthy creatures. The cultivation of 
your understanding shall be conducted under 
such limitations as good sense and prudence 
dictate; and I beg to assure you, that I am 
anxious to bestow on you not the education of 
a gentleman, but that of a philosopher/ 9 

Under such a tutor was I brought up in so- 
litude, and I may therefore well be pardoned 
for my excessive ignorance of life. I have lately 
become my own master, and by the decease 
of my guardian, find myself possessed of a 
good fortune, but not of one desire to spend it 
like a misanthrope. I abhor solitude, love so- 
ciety, and mean to enter into the world as soon 
as I learn how to behave myself in it. Dur- 
ing my seclusion in the forest, I was never in 
the company of women. I was taught to be- 
lieve them still worse than the men, and told 
they were worthy only of such transient ad- 
miration, as paintings, statues, flowers, or 
butterflies. Since my emancipation from cy- 
nical solitude, I have been in company with 
many beautiful young ladies. I wish I could 
find language to depict the wonder and de- 
light I felt on these occasions, as I had been 
led to believe them ignorant, frivolous, hard- 
hearted, and perfidious. Judge my astonish- 
ment, when I found them possessed of know- 
ledge, candour, feeling, wit, sensibility, and 
genius; judge my amazement, when 1 wit* 
b5 



XIV PREFACE TO 

nessed a display of excellencies, talents, and 
accomplishments that absolutely struck me 
dumb with admiration. 

And are we then (said I to a good old lady, 
who from compassion to my case, has kindly 
honoured me with her protection) are we so 
blessed as to be permitted these divine enjoy- 
ments? has Providence allotted us such angels 
for companions? O could I but obtain the love 
of a creature so beautiful, so worthy, so ado- 
rable as Julia: might I indulge the hope, that 
I shall one day fold her to my heart, make her 
the wife of my bosom, and end my days in 
her beloved society? Heavens! what would 
be my happiness? O! madam, how the bare 
idea of such bliss now makes my bosom throb 
with extasy. 

I was desired to moderate my transports — 
told to be less warm and more rational ; but I 
confess I feel no inclination to be governed 
by this reasonable cold advice. Why am I 
ordered to restrain this exquisite enthusiasm? 
Why am I counselled to discourage an attach- 
ment to the fairest object in existence? 

What! cease to worship Julia! would I 
could love her, Sir, a thousand times more 
fondly, but that's impossible; yet, if I could 
I would, because she merits it. 

I confidentially made known my situation 
to a youth of my own age, acquainting him 
at the same time with the advice of mv kind 



PROS AND CONS, XV 

patroness; he says, she's a hum-drum old 
maid, and knows nothing about love. I don't 
comprehend what he means by hum-drum : I 
looked in my lexicon, dictionaries, and gradus, 
but could not find out such a word. I told 
him so next time I saw him. He said I was 
a simpleton — a word of which I too well 
know the meaning. In pure simplicity of 
heart I come before you, and request you will 
receive me as a pupil, as I know I shall be 
edified by your instructions. You are con- 
versant with the ways of the world, have 
studied men and manners, and are able to im- 
part urbanity to rustics. 

By great good fortune I lately fell into your 
company, in a party of which you are the 
oracle. I was particularly delighted with 
some observations you was kind enough to 
make on love and marriage ; and ever shall 
regret the interruption you suffered by the 
entrance of a frivolous coxcomb, whose im- 
pertinent loquacity prevented all further at- 
tention to rational conversation. If a, jack- 
ass was to plant himself under a parlour- 
window, and set up his hideous brayings 
while we were employed in listening to the 
singing of a beautiful young lady, John the 
footman, armed with a good sound cudgel, 
w r ould soon be made to sally forth, and drive 
away the nuisance; — if a cur should steal 
into the room, and begin to yelp while some 



XVI PREFACE TO 

gay wit was regaling the company with tales 
of sportive mirth and brilliant flights of fancy, 
would not the cur be taken by the tail, and 
thrown out of the window ?— Yet was this 
half-ass half-puppy of a man permitted, for 
two hours, to stun twelve rational creatures 
with his insufferable babble. Why was he 
not thrown out of the window? — Why did 
they not send for John to cudgel him? — 
How I lament to think that such vile pests 
are suffered to infest society ! I could not 
help drawing a comparison in my own favour, 
and thinking how much better it is to be a 
hear, than such a canine assinine poor ani- 
mal as this. I mentioned this coxcomb to 
the good old hum-drum ; she confesses that 
when she first came home from boarding- 
school, she was a great admirer of such crea- 
tures, if they happened to be drest in gold- 
laced coats, and wore cocked hats with fea- 
thers in them; but now she despises them, 
and considers them the most insignificant 
of all God's creatures. I replied that the 
world allowed them to be insignificant ; but 
I contended that the phrase is ill applied, as 
they are most expressively significant of folly, 
ignorance, and pride. 

But let us return to the affairs of Love and 
Marriage, with which you seem so conver- 
sant. Let me request you will be so good 
as to enlighten me by communicating your 



PROS AND coirs. xvu 

most valuable opinions on these interesting 
subjects. Pray let me be directed by your 
sage experience; for ifi truth I feel how 
much I want a monitor; and you I cannot 
but consider as a second Mentor. 

My good friend the hum-drum old lady, 
although I cannot divine the motive by which 
she is actuated, does nothing from night till 
morning but advise me not to fall in love with 
J ulia ; and 1 from morning till night can think 
of doing nothing else. If I continue falling 
in love so fast, I shall soon be over head and 
ears; for an impetuous torrent of this charm- 
ing passion, Sir, already inundates my heart. 
I recollect a cross old gentleman, in a large 
wig, said, the result of his experience had 
induced him to entertain two most decisive 
opinions upon Love and Matrimony : the first 
was, that no man should inconsiderately per- 
mit himself to fall in love; and the second 
was, that no man who had the least conside- 
ration, would ever think of marrying. You, 
I remember, asserted, that a man was often 
liable to fall in love before he had time to 
consider any thing about the matter. This 
opinion fits my case exactly. There are other 
instances, you said, in which a man, con- 
trary to all considerations, is frequently com- 
pelled to fall in love, in spite of his teeth. 
This does not fit my case at all ; because I 
love Julia without any spite whatever. 



XV111 PREFACE TO 

Various opinions were then successively 
given upon the conditions of lovers and mar- 
ried persons. Some considered them the most 
happy, and some described them as the most 
miserable beings in existence. I am led to 
conclude then that there are many Pros and 
Cons for Love and Matrimony, As I judge 
you to be so fully qualified for such an un- 
dertaking, I wish you would be kind enough 
to state them. For my own part, I have not 
at present the slightest idea of any Cons on 
these subjects ; I am Pro-loving as long as I 
live, and Pro-marrying as soon I can — my 
dear, dear Julia! Pray do not, therefore, 
advise me to desist from loving her ; for if 
you do, I certainly must disobey you. 

Believe me ever, 

Your most obedient pupil, 

Julius Sylvanus* 



PflfOS AND CONS. XIX 

MARCUS, a Man of the Town, 

TO 

JULIUS, a Lad of the Country. 



DEAR SYLVANUS, 

3l our genuine simplicity of cha- 
racter, and the painful peculiarity of your 
situation, strongly recommend you to my 
pity ; and the more so, as you do not ap- 
pear by any means to comprehend the full 
extent of your calamities. Alas, Sir, how 
lamentable is your case ! You are in love : 
already you exhibit symptoms of that dire 
disease. 

All that your preceptor did for you, ex- 
cept that of dying and leaving you a good 
fortune, was to make you a philosopher— 
a character to which you now retain no claim. 
Love dispossesses you of all pretensions to this 
venerable title. Cupid, in two or three casual 
interviews with a fine girl, has undone what a 
most accomplished misanthrope and learned 
cynic was so long performing. To what a 
melancholy situation are you now reduced ! — 



XX PREFACE TO 

To love, and be a philosopher, comes not 
within the bounds of possibility. The phi- 
losopher is an indifferent character: a lover is 
quite different. You are in love ; you are un- 
acquainted with history and geography — your 
preceptor did not learn you how to be a gen- 
tleman. These circumstances reduce me to 
no small dilemma, inasmuch as I am under 
the necessity of civilly acquainting you, that 
as matters now stand, you are neither a gen- 
tleman, or a philosopher. 

With respect to my attempting to tame 
you, I consider such an undertaking would 
be now superfluous ; I shall have no occasion, 
I believe, to cudgel you, or put you on a 
muzzle: you are in noble training. Love is 
your only tamer of wild beasts. " Cupid, like 
a Mameluke, can vault on the most wild and 
vicious horses— can harness tigers — mount 
the Nemoean lion— or what comes roundly to 
our point at once, can ride a bear : so that 
you see you are in excellent hands. Courage, 
my friend ! as far as it respects the process 
of taming, your affairs appear in a most pros- 
perous condition. There are even grounds to 
hope you may attain some politesse, and soon 
be made to mend your manners. Perhaps 
the Loves may introduce you to the Graces: 
I have heard that even bears, when in love, 
are so refined as to evince indubitable proofs 
of their good breeding. 



TROb AND CONS. XXI 

With respect to your polishing, it will, I 
trust, he soon performed without the assist- 
ance of Chesterfield's rotten-stone, or bring- 
ihg your good feelings to the grindstone. 

I make no doubt, Sir, but you know the 
value of an ounce of well-wrought steel in 
England, which can be made far to surpass 
in worth an equal weight of gold. I take it 
for granted, that you are fully acquainted 
with the mode of bestowing upon steel a bril- 
liancy that makes it vie in splendour with the 
eyes of Julia, and the jewels of Golconda. 

You likewise know, that man is compound- 
ed of the four elements, some of which are 
now discovered to be no elements at all; but 
perhaps you don't know that this earthy, wa- 
tery, airy, fiery, compound (yet sometimes 
simple) creature Man, bears a singular affinity 
to the above rough metal, inasmuch as he is 
alone capable, like steel, of receiving the last 
polish from the hands of a woman. In vain 
may Parr or Vincent, learnedly heavy, ham- 
mer off our rust; in vain may the gentle Ge- 
rard Andrews, the most mild and excellent 
of classical preceptors, strive " Lima et Lahore" 
to smooth us down " ad angiiem" ; in vain may 
he bestow on us a mollifying portion of sound 
erudition, and imbue us with a share of his 
own " Svaviter in modd" ; in vain the efforts 
of this most accomplished gentleman and scho- 
lar; in vain also the elaborate attempts of Sir 



XX11 PREFACE TO 

John Hop, the dancing-master, to give us the 
last polish — we can alone receive it from the 
hands of the Ladies, 

Bless your stars, then, my good ci-divant 
Philosopher, for having thrown you into such 
admirable hands as Julia's; for I doubt not 
you will admit w T ith me, that her hands are 
the most delicate, soft, white and beautiful 
that ever mortal eyes detected in the act of 
playing on a harp : — here let me curb the wish 
I feel to lavish praises on your mistress, for I 
desire not to augment with pangs of jealousy 
the manifold luxurious tortures, and dear 
" delightful miseries" with which an amoroso 
is so charmingly tormented, 

You desire me to accept you as a Pupil, 
and give you some schooling in the affairs of 
Love and Matrimony; but while you ask for 
my advice, you have no hesitation in declar- 
ing, that if you don't relish it you won't take 
it: this, Sir, is treating me as a man serves 
his apothecary, but be not alarm'd, I do not 
advise you, like the hum-drum old lady, not 
to fall in love with Julia, because you have 
already done so. What's the use of saying to 
a man take care, don't fall, when we already 
see him sprawling in a kennel. 

As you was almost over head and ears yes- 
terday, I conclude you will be quite out of 
your depth before to-morrow : should that be 
the case, and you can't swim, the Lord help 



PROS AND CONS. XXIII 

you! if Julia feels no inclination to be thus 
overwhelmed, and through obstinacy resists all 
persuasions to fell in love with you. I advise 
you to get out of love with her again the best 
way you can, as being in love by one's self is 
very dull. 

You say you believe many Pros and Cons 
may be urg'd upon the subjects of Love and 
Matrimony. There is indeed as much Pro- 
ing and Con-ning with some lovers, as coo- 
ing and billing with others. Some deliberate 
couples resemble Hilpa and Shalum* (who 
play'd at shilly-shally some few scores of years) 
and others do not resemble them at all. 

As you are unacquainted at present with 

tlliy M! Lii*3 u.i£uaaicuco bnuo AAAtt,/ uc auvalicecl 

as dissuasives to Love, and are, in fact, only 
able to enumerate the Pros, I shall just set 
down, for your edification, a select number 
of Cons, being unwilling to burden a young 
pupil with too many examples, which might 
render his first task too difficult. 

CONS IN LOVE. 

The horrid certainty that the beloved ob- 
ject loves your most detested rival, and has 
just exchanged a promise of marriage with 
him. 

* Vide Spectator, Vol. 8, Nos. 584 and 585. 



XXIV TRKFACE TO 

A full conviction that the woman for whom 
you languish, is one of the most hateful 
beings in existence, and not possessed of one 
domestic quality. 

A thorough knowledge that the object of 
your affections is, in the main, a very philan- 
thropic being, who, from the imperious ne- 
cessity of an unconquerable antipathy rejects 
your addresses, and hates nobody in the 
whole world, except yourself. 

A timely discovery that your mistress has 
nothing admirable about her but her face and 
person ; that she makes herself a public gap- 
ing-stock; and openly encourages at the same 
time the attentions of as many suitors as 
thilik fit to offfS their addresses. 

A discovery that your mistress is so con- 
stituted as to be incapable of loving any thing 
but herself. 
A discovery that she is as poor as yourself; 
That she is a scold ; 
That she is an incessant talker, 
An abominable slut, 
An intolerable glutton, 
An unparalleled miser, 
A determined spendthrift, 
An incorrigible drunkard, 
A notorious harlot. 
Any one of these cases frequently deter- 
mine what is called a prudent man to decide, 
point blank, against continuing to love his 



PROS AND CONS. XXV 

mistress : but there are many others who 
remain unconvinced by all these strong dis- 
suasives, and who incontinently, not only go 
on loving, but calmly make up their minds 
to marry such mistresses as soon as possible. 
Lovers of this description have sometimes 
been called foolish, imprudent, and infa- 
tuated ; others deem them bold, generous, 
charitable, liberal— or consider them illus- 
trious philosophers, w r ho have greatly tri- 
umphed over ail the vulgar prejudices of a 
narrow education. 

It has been mentioned, that besides these 
two decisive kinds of lovers, who make their 
minds up to Courtship and Marriage slap- 
dash at once, there are some fluctuating, in- 
decisive, shilly-shally, dilly-dally kind of fel- 
lows, who stand Pro-ing and Con-ning for half 
a century, before they come to a determi- 
nation. 

I once Pro'd it and Conn'd it with a young 
lady myself, and adopted a method of so 
doing, that has been considered rather in- 
genious. As you have dubbed me your 
tutor, and I have formally accepted you as 
a pupil, it becomes my duty to instruct you 
to the uttermost : being determined to ini- 
tiate you into this secret plan of Pro-ing and 
Con-ning our mistresses, 1 shall, at no distant 
period, put you in full possession of the ne- 
cessary apparatus for effecting it ; and amuse 



XXVI PREFACE TO 

you in the interim by a relation of the cir- 
cumstances that first gave rise to my inven- 
tion of it. 

Being pressed by a relation whom I could 
not well displease, to pay my addresses to 
Constantia Fickle, a coquette of some note, 
I forthwith began courting her secundum ar- 
tem ; and in process of time was very strongly 
urged to marry her. I wrote for counsel, on 
this occasion, to my wise old maiden aunt, Pru- 
dentia Ponderwell, and received the following 
answer — " To marry is easy, to unmarry dif- 
ficult—weigh the matter well !" 

Being much pleased with this excellent 
advice, I went pondering to bed, determined 
to weigh the matter well before I got up 
again. I accordingly began balancing at such 
a see-saw kind of rate, that I soon was rocked 
to sleep; and being wholly under the in- 
fluence of peculiar impressions, and surren- 
dered to the dominion of Fancy, I still pur- 
sued, in dreams, the object of my waking 
speculations. I dreamt my good old aunt, 
Prudentia appeared to me, and gave me the 
plan of a certain weighing machine, with 
full directions, so to construct it, as would 
infallibly enable me to weigh the matter 
well. I rose, delighted with my dream, in 
the truth of which I placed unlimited confi- 
dence, because I had dreamt it three dis- 
tinct times. I immediately went to work, 



PROS AND COX*. XXVll 

and fabricated a most ingenious machine and 
two sets of weights ; for the exclusive privi- 
lege of selling which I hope some day to hold 
the Royal Letters Patent. 

I made two scales, one of pure virgin gold, 
and one of lead : on the golden virgin scale 
I embossed the word Pro, and on that not 
fabricated out of virgin metal I indented the 
word Con. I then caused two sets of weights 
to be constructed out of similar materials : 
on those of gold I stamped virtues, perfec* 
tions, and agreeables ; and on those of lead, 
vices, imperfections, and disagreeables. When 
I had thus got ready the necessary apparatus 
for weighing matters, I began picking my 
mistress's soul and body to pieces as soon 
as possible — a process that could not have 
been performed had we been Turks ; this 
you will readily allow. However, being de- 
termined to weigh my mistress's Christian 
soul and body, conformably to my new- 
invented plan, I went on most coolly, de- 
liberately, and even-handedly to do so.— 
Into the golden Pro I threw all her virtues, 
perfections, and agreeables; and into the 
leaden Con I thrust all her vices, imperfec- 
tions, and disagreeables : and having weighed 
every thing with the most faithful accuracy, 
I proceeded to draw up the following state* 
ment of the account. 



XXVlll 



PREFACE TO 



PROS. 





Pounds 

128 

18 
36 

128 

117 
3,500 

3>93° 


Ounces 
I 

9 

9 

1 
1 

9 
6 

2 


Drams 

I 

3 

3 

4 
«»• 

7 

4 


r Scruples 

Z 

X 
X 

% 
I 


Grain* 


Profession of Anabaptism 


"-I 


TToifh ....4 ».. • 


si 




18 

1 




Generosity to Lap-Dogs 
Tenderness for Cock- ) 
fparrows •$ 


" m T9 


Wii* ....... 


4 
"1 




•f Negative Chastity, the ^ 
fcale full, precisely e-r 
quailing in wdght that C 
of her whole person * 


18 


A beautiful Roman Nofe 

A pair of great Ears for ? 
Music ••' 5 

An agreeable Person,""* 
subject to various de- 1 
ductions specified on p 
the Per Contra side J 
of the Account J 

Her Fortune, estimating *) 
each Pound Sterling at r 
a Pound Troy * 

Total Pro 


114 

•** 



* It is curious enough, that 24 Grains mould just correspond with 
a Pennyweight, and thereby make Miss FickJe correspond exactly 
with the old Proverb* as upon the most accurate weighing she proved 
to be " Penny wise and Pound foolish." 

4 I was surpris'd to find her large share of this commodity, when 
submitted to the necessary tests of-^practical Philosophy, exhibit such 
a degree of the negative, and as it were Proing and Conning principle. 



PKO.S A2HD CONS'. 



XXIX 



CONS. 



Superstition 

Credulity 

Ignorance • 

Folly 

Selfishness 

Pride 

Caprice ■ 

Scandal 

Impertinence 

Loquacity 

Fashionable Infidelity 

Laziness 

Sluttishness 

Fibbing 

Coquetry 

Drinking 

A false Heart 

A long foul Tongue 

An overgrown Spleen 

*A grumbling Gizzard 

A freckled common- place- 
look 
been 
Rom 
great 

A pair of ogling Sheep's Eyes 

A bald oblong Head, very;) 
light, considering its thick- ^ 
ness 

A «orrel-coloured Wig 

A Wen deducted from an ? 
agreeable left Shoulder S 

Extravagance 

Gaming •* • 




Total Con--- 



PuviMla 


Or. 


Ur.'.uii 


>crup* 


128 


9 


3 




128 


9 


3 




128 


9 


3 




I 




•- 




12$ 


9 


3 


... 


iz8 


9 


3 


... 


X18 


9 


3 




1*1 


9 


3 


• *• 


128 


9 


3 


... 


118 


9 


3 


... 


128 


9 


3 


... 


118 


9 


3 


... 


128 


9 


3 


... 


118 


9 


3 




128 


9 


3 

3 


... 


X 


5 
3 


... 


... 


3 


... 


... 


... 


1 


2 


••• 


... 


... 


12 


... 


... 


... 


2 


... 


... 


X 


10 


... 


... 


2 


... 


7 


... 


... 


6 


... 


X 


14,000 
20,000 


... 


... 


... 


1*551 


5 


X 


I 



Cons 35,555. s. 3. 
Pros 3»93°' *« 4- 



1 sir; 



Graiw* 


16 


ll 


iS . 


iS 


I* 


iS 


18 


iS 


18 


iS 


iS 


18 


iS 


I* 



«i 



«si 



Cons 31*6^5. 2. 7. o. 



TT 



Baianee against Miss Const. Fickle. 

* According to the reports of Anatomists, in some Women thit 
Organ is found wanting; notwithstanding many of them, during hie, 
have told their fricads they felt things sticking in their GUzaUs. 

C 



XXX PStSFAC-K T-O 

Haying thus well weighed the matter, and 
finding such a formidable balance against my 
mistress, I was not at a loss how to decide. Be- 
ing fully satisfied the degree of love I felt for her 
was not sufficiently strong to break my heart- 
strings, crack my brain, or melt me down 
into a deep consumption, I instantly deter- 
mined to decline a marriage with the gay in- 
constant Miss Constantia Fickle; who, to 
speak the truth, had no kind of constancy 
about her, except that of constantly changing 
her mind. 

When I was known to be disengaged again, 
the ladies admitted me freely to their parties, 
and seemed more disposed to honour me with 
their consideration. One beautiful young crea- 
ture, of superior talents, whom I found more 
pleasing than all the rest, used frequently to 
banter me in the most charming manner pos- 
sible. So potent is the influence of a fine 
woman's complaisance, and such is the infa- 
tuation of poor human vanity, that I soon ca- 
joled myself with a belief that our attachment 
was reciprocal. Going home one night with 
a full persuasion that I had nothing to do but 
ask and have, I got my weighing machine to 
work, that I might most precisely ascertain 
the merits and pretensions of the beautiful Se- 
lina. Never, sure, did human being possess 
more solid weighty quantities of virtues, per- 
fections, and agreeables, than this incompa- 



PROS AND CONS. XXXI 

inble creature : she was perfectly divine, I 
did not find a single Con about her. O! what 
a happy being am I (said I to myself, in a tone 
of vain-glorious exultation) to possess the 
affection of such a lovely excellent young wo- 
man? How bountiful are the gifts of my 
Creator ! What an incomparable wife has Pro- 
vidence ordained me? I passed a restless 
night amidst a multitude of most tumultuous 
hopes, exstatic reveries, and rapturous reflec- 
tions. Next night I saw the most divine Se- 
lina, and thought I had abundant reason to 
applaud my penetration, when she thus ad- 
dressed me : " Sir, will you do me the favour 
to give me candid answers to two simple 
questions?" 'Assuredly, my dearest madam: 
I consider your commands most sacred: from 
me you have nothing to expect but prompt 
obedience, profound respect, unbounded can- 
dour — what are your questions?' u You may 
conceive I take a liberty in asking them ; if 
80, I trust you will evade them. First, may 
I enquire if there is any truth in the report 
that you have made a vow to die a Bachelor?" 
c Forbid it heaven! if so, despair indeed 
would be my portion/ u As you have not 
taken an oath against marriage, pray tell me 
frankly, would you feel offended if I took the 
liberty to recommend you a wife?" ■ I should 
consider it the greatest honour that ever was 
conferred on me.' I was just on the point o{ 



XXXll PREFACE T£ 

stammering out a full avowal of my passion, 
but the most elegant and sprightly of her sex 
withdrew to tell her friends that she had won 
both bets. When I went home and reflected 
on the matter, I determined not to defer the 
declaration of my passion, which I thought I 
could do most to my satisfaction and credit in 
a letter, because I knew my paper would not 
blush, or my pen stutter. I therefore in- 
stantly addressed her in the following manner : 

" Dear Madam, 

" Accept my everlasting thanks 
*? for the kind hint last night suggested: let 
•f me implore you to recommend me a w r ife 
" immediately ; and be so good as not to let 
" her differ from yourself in any particular 
" whatever. 

" I am 

" Your grateful faithful Servant, 

" Marcus." 

I read this laconic Epistle with no small 
share of self-complacency. " Here/* said I, 
* is an ingenious disclosure of my passion, re- 
lated with such pith and brevity as would 
have done credit to a Spartan." After I had 
done reading and admiring this precious bil- 
let, I sent it to my Mistress. I found that 
whatever her idea of pith might be, she was 
by no means an admirer of me and my brevity* 



PROS AND COS9. XXXUl 

She did me the honour to reply next day as 
follows: 

11 Sir, 

M I have received your letter, re- 
" questing me to recommend you a wife. I 
" shall not, in return, employ you to look me 
* out a husband. I am determined, please 
M God, to have one as soon as possible ; but at 
M the same time beg leave to observe, he shall 
** not resemble you in any particular whatever. 
u I am 

" Selixa." 

This was the heaviest blow the hand of 
Cupid ever dealt me, and my poor heart was 
thereby so unmercifully bruised as to continue 
sore for upwards of a twelvemonth. At time* 
I thought my fancied flames of love were 
turned to real fire, and that I should bona 
fidely some night be totally consumed in bed, 
like Dr. Trotter's Dram-Drinkers*. Can you 

* Dr. Trotter, in his valuable Treatise upon Drunken- 
ness, has industrioufly collected together some wonderful 
and interesting cases of persons who became ignited, sponie 
sua, and reduced to ashes, by a process of animal combus- 
tion* 

As a medical treatise does not enjoy such extensive circu- 
lation as works upon general subjects, there are, perhaps, 
many persons, particularly ladies, who are uninformed of 
these phenomena j I am tempted therefore, for their amuse- 
ment, to givt the following short extract from the Doctor's 
\*g;k ; — 

G 3 



XXXAV JPHEFACE TO 

believe it, Sir! I felt such burning pains a* 
made me often think my chest stuff 'd full of 
red hot roasted chesnuts. Thus day and night 
by Cupid wantonly excruciated, I mournfully 
reflected on the miseries of hopeless Love, 
and oft, when musing by myself, burst out 
into pathetic exclamations. I applauded the 
precautionary prudence of the East, where 
beauteous women are compelled to shroud 
their faces, and conceal the fatal splendour 
of those charms, which, like the forked light- 
ning, often blast the sight of the unfortunate 

•• A woman about fifty years of age, who indulged to 
excess in spirituous liquors, and got drunk every day be- 
fore she went to bed, was found entirely burnt and reduced 
to ashes : some of the offeous parts only were left 3 but the 
furniture of the apartment had suffered very little damage, 
Vicq. D'Azyr, instead of disbelieving this phenomenon, 
adds, there have been many other instances of the like 
kind."— Vide Essay on Drunkenness, page 71, Second Edi- 
tion. 

This is not the most miraculous or interesting amongst 
the many cases there recorded ; but selected for its brevity. 
Those who are desirous of information on these matters arc 
referred to the Doctor's Treatise, page 62, &c. and the 
Memoir of Mr. Alexander Tilloch, inserted in Vol. Stk 
of the Philosophical Magazine, page 181. 

Do not these animal fires throw great light upon a sub- 
ject which philosophers have so long left in the dark ? I 
allude to the (as yet undetermined) disputes for ascertaining 
whether men or women are endued with the greatest portion 
of fire. I flatter myself it now falls to my lot to advance an 
argument so clear and conclusive, that all the mists of doubt 



PROS AND CONS. XXXV 

beholder, and paralyze the noblest faculties of 

man. 

I inveighed against the parents of beau- 
teous women, for daring to permit them, 
comet like, to wander through the streets, 
destruction in their train. 

Pidcock, said I, is not allowed to let hie 
wild beasts prowl at large. No, he is made 
to lock them up in dens ; but the inhuman 
police of this country permits a beautiful 
woman, an animal more dangerous to man, 

shall instantly be dissipated, and beg to claim the right cf 
being esteemed by the ladies, not only as a redoubtable 
champion, who has routed all their foes, but also as an 
equitable judge, who has impartially decided the most im- 
portant of all causes in their favour. 

I give my verdict on these grounds :— 

In no instance upon record, of self-combusted beings, do 
we find one man. It is true, two noblemen, and one sol- 
dier, who drank raw spirits to excess, eructed a few flames, 
and died j but this is not being fairly reduced to ashes, or 
converted into charcoal like that more fiery animal, a wo- 
man. 

If men could have been burnt by the force of their own 
fires, what would have been the fate of Pindar and Ho- 
mer of old, or Shakspeare, Dryden, Milton, Gray, and 
Collins? — these, it must be allowed, were men posses- 
sing some degree of fire ; but none of these were burnt to 
cinders in bed by the light of their own genius, any more 
than Marcus Urbanus, notwithstanding all his flames of 
love. 

Even Rousseau, who, by his own confession, some- 
times wrote so warmly, that his words were hot enough 
(4 



XXXVI PREFACE TO 

than all the sanguinary monster? of Nufnidia, 
to infest the public places, and roam about 
the streets to violate the peace and desolate 
the happiness of thousands. 

A lion* when he dooms us for prey, is kind 
enough to eat us up at once; but a beautiful 
woman devours us piece-meal— roasts one, as 
it were, by a slow tire, and destroys us by a 
lingering consumption* 

to " burn tbt paper" escaped spontaneous ignition and in- 
cineration. 

Women are not satisfied with burning paper, they sonic* 
tiroes burn themselves. 

Can we any longer wonder at the flashes of fire that blaze 
out from the compositions of a Sappho, and an Eloisa ? As 
for Sappho, I make no doubt but she would soon have been 
carbonated by self- conflagration, if she had not chosen to 
drown herself in so precipitate a manner. 

Having given to men so humiliating a proof of their infe- 
riority to women, I cannot in their present chop-fallen (late 
forbear to offer them a little comfort, by the way of a douceur. 

Men, not unfrequently, are much afflicted in the mar- 
riage state ; and many a wretched husband most emphati- 
cally cries out, M Burn my wife !" — And so you may, my 
dear good Mr. Husband, if you will but let her drink a 
sufficient quantity of gin ; for the innate fires of her genius 
being thereby stimulated into action, the spirits may become 
ignited, so that conflagration, and combustion also, may 
result from this grand chemical procedure. 

And what is the most comfortable consideration for the 
husband is, that a wife may in this manner be burnt, with- 
out consuming an uninsured house, or even causing the de- 
struction of the bed clothes.— There's news for husbands ! 






PROS AND CONS. XXXVU 

We worship her — she spurns us; we call 
her an angel — she plays the devil with us. 

A heautiful woman is a public calamity. 
The French sometimes denominate her poi- 
son; I call her a scourge —a visitation — a 
pestilence, when single ; and a plague when 
married. 

Thus did I often painfully reflect, and bit- 
terly declaim, till the black gall w r as roused 
within me. This only served to aggravate my 
case, and I w T as soon compelled to state it to 
physicians. Their various opinions amply 
verified the proverb, that " Many men have 
many minds." One said I had received a 
concussion of the right lobe of the liver ; 
another that I had destroyed the left lobe of 
my lungs with playing on the hautboy ; ano- 
ther said I was spleen-grown ; another fixed 
the disease in my kidneys ; another seated it 
in the brain ; another seated it no where but 
in my own imagination, and took a guinea 
for telling me there was nothing the matter 
with me. The last came somewhat nearer 
the mark; he vowed I was afllicted with a 
most inveterate heart-burn, treated me like 
a calf, and bade me lick a lump of chalk. 
Continuing to get worse, I was resolved to 
stand my own physician. I reasoned on my 
case : I am afflicted with the passion of love, 
said I;— what is the nature of this passion? 
It is said to be sweet ; consequently I must 
C 5 



XXXVlil PREFACE TO 

seek for antidotes amongst those substances 
endued with qualities the most opposite. I 
therefore tried to cure this sweet passion by 
swallowing bitter aloes and stinking assafoe- 
tida. This regimen miscarried like the rest ; 
as the disgust excited, only acted on my pa* 
late, and did not affect the appetite I felt for 
my mistress. I then consulted two old wo- 
men : one desired me to take thyme ; the 
other, hearts-ease. I was at last indebted 
for my cure to an ass of the four-footed 
tribe, whose milk I lived on so long, that I 
became ass enough to feel indifference for the 
most charming object in existence. 

I was not in a hurry to write laconic love- 
letters, and far less did I feel disposed to fall 
in love again; because I found from expe- 
rience, that neither my constitution or my 
purse could possibly afford it. I determined 
to be satisfied with friendship, a much cheaper 
article. I became extremely intimate with 
Laura ; I asked her if it would be agreeable 
to her to let me be her friend ? — She said, she 
had no objection ; and I became her friend 
accordingly. In the course of our confiden- 
tial conversations, I related to her all the 
principal occurrences of my life, not even 
excepting my love affairs, and the ingenious 
machine I had invented for Pro-ing and Con- 
ning. I soon found cause, however, to repent 
my candour ; for she one day took advantage 



PROS AND CON*. XXXiX 

of my absence, and under the pretence of 
changing a volume of Shakspeare, gained 
admittence to my study, attended by her fe- 
male friend, Sophia ; a mad-cap, plump, rich, 
beautiful young lady of nineteen. They 
amused themselves with ransacking my apart- 
ment ; and as my evil destiny would have it, 
discovered my ingenious apparatus, which 
they immediately employed most hugely to 
my disadvantage. Guess my surprise when 
I went into my study, to find every thing in 
a state of confusion : my books were thrown 
off the shelves — my papers dealt like cards, 
in parcels, all about the room — my gold 
weights strewed in one corner, the leaden 
ones scattered about in another. In the Con 
scale I found the following billet from my 
friend Laura, who was determined not to be 
my friend any longer : — 

" Sir, 

" I have seen your machine, and 
* made use of it to Pro and Con my ifew 
" lover, Mr. Alberto, who last night, upon 
m his knees, very politely offered me his 
" hand. Having weighed the matter well, I 
w find a balance in his favour: this, however, 
" I tell you in friendly confidence, as well as 
" that it will not be in my power to be vout 
u friend any longer. I find Mr. Alberto pos- 
H sesses many scruples of jealousy-; yoti will, 
cO 



Xl FREFACE TO 

m therefore, be so kind as to receive this 
'■ everlasting adieu, from 

" Laura." 

Judge the chagrin I felt to be abandoned 
by my friend. Yet this was not the most 
mortifying part of the adventure ; as I soon 
found, to my sorrow. Observing some torn 
pieces of paper on the floor, I had the curio- 
sity to pick up, and examine them. Figure 
to yourself my amazement, when I beheld the 
estimates of my own mind and body, as taken 
by the rich and beautiful Sophia! My cheeks 
glowed and chilled alternately as I saw my- 
self credited for a pound of wit, an ounce 
of reason, and a grain of prudence. I had 
no doubt but I should carry it : yet, alas ! 
when I came to look at the sums total, I 
found I had lost it by one article — what it 
was she did not fully express ^ but thus mys- 
teriously wrote it down — " Deficient in the 
essential point, two ounces and a half." This 
turned the scale against me. Surely she did 
not allude to my poverty, as she possessed a 
handsome independence. I railed, I raved, 
and ranted like a maniac. Why did I un- 
reservedly display myself to the perfidious 
Laura ? — Why did I give her the whole his- 
.tory of this most vile machine ? — She has be- 
trayed me ! In my passion I determined to 
destroy it. for having deprived me of the rich 






PROS AND CON*. Xll 

and beautiful Sophia, whom I understood had 
fully determined to marry me, until she dis- 
covered I was deficient in the essential point. 
It is fortunate for you that I did not demo- 
lish this apparatus in my rage, as I should 
not have been then able to furnish you with 
the means of fairly estimating all the merits 
of your " dear, dear Julia !" I advise you 
to weigh her by all means; and you shall be 
accommodated with my apparatus for the pur- 
pose, w r henever you think proper to demand it. 
Having disclosed to you the utility, as well 
as the best method of Pro-ing and Con-ning, 
I now proceed to offer you some further in- 
structions relative to Love and Matrimony. 

During your courtship, let me intreat you 
never to wear the mask of base dissimulation ; 
never abandon the integrity, simplicity, and 
candour of your native character. It is too 
much the practice of lovers to demean them- 
selves with artifice ; and during this proba- 
tionary term, to draw a close veil over all 
their faults and constitutional infirmities. 

Many men in your situation would labour 
to conceal their turpitude from Julia : but my 
ingenuous pupil will, I trust, display a ge- 
nerous disdain of all deception. Do not by 
any means attempt to hide from her that you 
are so confounded passionate : — no, rather 
seek occasions to display your bad propensi- 
ties; and let her, by a foretaste of your tern* 



Xlii PREFACE TO 

per, learn what a disposition she will have ta 
deal with. 

Wring the neck of her bullfinch — throw ft 
fork at her parrot — knock her lap-dog's brains 
out with the poker ; this will shew her you 
are passionate. If your breath is foul, kis* 
her without having orris-root in your mouth ; 
if your hair is red, let her see you one day 
without powder ; if you wear a wig, tighten 
the band of your hat, so that when you make 
her a bow the hat and wig may both come off 
together; if your legs are bandy, be sure 
to let her see you walk a minuet in white 
silk stockings ; if you take snuff, tell her you 
always have a waistcoat-pocket lined with 
leather, because you find it more convenient 
than a snuff-box ; and if you chew tobacco, 
make a point some day to take a stale quid 
from your cheek, and throw it in the fire* 
This is what I call being candid. 

It is necessary you should acquaint her* 
that you are neither a Gentleman or a Philo- 
sopher. From what I know of Julia, I enter- 
tain no doubt but she will soon make you the 
former ; and when you cease to be a lover, 
you will again become the latter. When j~ou 
are married, you will soon resume your learned 
calmness and indifference, precisely at a time 
when you will find the utmost use for all 
your patience and philosophy. 

I admire the salutary dispensations of pro- 



PROS AKD CONS. Xlili 

▼idence evinced on these occasions, and I 
beg to point them out as worthy of your no- 
tice. The lover undergoes a temporary pri- 
vation of his reason and philosophy; — and 
why ? — The answer is obvious: — Because he 
is no longer doomed to show a Stoical indif- 
ference, and is designed to play the fool. 
But the married man is soon brought to his 
sober senses, and may begin to act once more 
like a rational being from sun-rise to sun-set, 
if his wife will let him. As for his philoso- 
phy, he may practice that with or without 
permission of his wife, or any individual being 
in existence. We live, Sir, in a world that will 
allow a man to bear all sorts of sorrows, in- 
juries, and miseries, with as much patience 
as he chooses. Yes, yes, thank Heaven ! 
this world is so constituted, that a married 
man may practice philosophy as soon as he 
thinks proper, if nature happens to have made 
him a philosopher. 

I have advised you to be explicit, unre- 
served, and candid, throughout the whole of 
your courtship : much of matrimonial happi- 
ness depends upon a previous good under- 
standing between the parties. If your in- 
come is about five and twenty guineas a quar- 
ter, and your mistress is to come to you with 
nothing but her beauty for her dowry, you 
may give her to understand, that she will not 
be permitted to dress at the rate of five hun- 



Xlir PREFACE TO 

dred pounds per annum, and that you do not 
intend to keep her a coach and four. 

With respect to getting yourself sent to 
jail on her account, you may start the fol- 
lowing objection, namely, the insupportable 
distress that you should feel at being thus 
deprived of her most dear society. No well- 
bred husband, who has studied Chesterfield, 
could act so impolitely as to take his wife to 
prison with him. It is enough that a wife 
gets her husband put into jail, without coming 
there to him. 

I advise you not only to manifest your 
faults, but even to communicate your various 
little prejudices, to the woman you design to 
make your wife. Let her know that your 
education has given you so strong' a bias 
towards morality, propriety, and decency, 
that your prejudices all run in favour of mak- 
ing your wife behave with obedience, deli- 
cacy, and decorum. Tou may state also, 
that not having been brought up in France or 
Italy, you have a natural antipathy to being 
made a cuckold. I assure you it will be 
better to make her sensible of this before 
than after marriage: explanations come ra- 
ther awkwardly after marriage ; — a very me- 
morable example of which took place, in 
what is called High Life not long ago. 

A \*ery beautiful lady, who espoused a ce- 
lebrated battered rake, addressed him thus — 



FRO? AND CON*. Xlv 

* I absolutely forgot to apprise you of one 
small circumstance; perhaps you have not 
observed, that, like Annette, I am just now 
somewhat encumbered with " un petit arron- 
dissement ;" of this effect, your friend Tom 
S has been the cause;? " Zounds, Ma- 
dam !" said the bridegroom, " I think you 
might, considering our intimacy, have done 
me the favour to have mentioned this circum- 
stance a little sooner !" 

You see what evils a disregard to candour 
may produce. Thus was a wonderfully-well- 
bred highly polished man compelled to re- 
buke a wonderfully elegant accomplished 
lady on her wedding-day : not that the lady 
was thereby disconcerted ; she bore it with a 
high degree of fashionable " sang froid" 
which in plain English means a great deal of 
cool impudence. 

As your bride will exhibit much amiable 
confusion and delicate timidity at her nup- 
tials, it will be necessary not to behave too 
roughly. When you go to church to marry 
her, don't clap the parson on the back, and 
say, as a certain line gentleman once did, 
** Make haste, old boy 1 I'm in a deuce of a 
hurry!" Don't you be getting into a fit of 
absence either, and say " No /" instead of 
" Yes," when the priest demands, if you will 
take this woman for your wedded wife? — 
bhould the ring be missing when the prie3t 



Xlvi yjtEfACE TO 

asks for it, and the bride says, she saw you 
put it in your pocket, don't, like the rude 
old Guernsey bridegroom *, bellow forth—* 
" You lie!" so loud as to be heard by the 
whole congregation. 

I trust you will excuse my offering the 
above advice, which, indeed, I should not 
have done, if I did not know you to be a bit 
of a bear. 

Should you be obliged to elope with your 
mistress, and know yourself to be closely pur- 
sued, I advise you not to stop on the road 
until a turkey is boiled for your supper, lest 
the lady, thinking you seem more inclined for 
eating than marrying, and that you are fonder 
of a turkey than herself, should refuse to 
travel with you any farther, and surrender 
herself to her pursuers ; a circumstance that 
happened not long since in Norfolk^ a coun* 
try famed for fine turkeys, hard dumplings, 
and run-away matches. Apropos, while on 
the subject of cookery. Let me advise you, 

* This circumstance actually took place at a wedding in 
Guernsey some years ago. The clergyman asked for the 
ring. *' You have got it/* said the bridegroom to the 
bride.— " No, I gave it you back again," said the woman. 
" You lie !" said the man. After much search, this 
polite bridegroom drew forth a small parcel from his 
pocket, and unfolding half a dozen envellopes, produced a 
leaden ring-*with which he had the happiness to be mar- 
ried ! 



PROS AND CON*. xlvil 

when married, not to insist upon boiled ducke 
for dinner; but if your wife spontaneously 
puts that dish upon your table, accept it as 
a most auspicious omen, and rest assured that 
you enjoy no scanty share of conjugal feli- 
city. 

I would have you careful how you request 
your wife to remove the fire-irons from one 
side of the grate to the other ; as a parlour- 
poker was the means of once stirring up such 
fiery indignation, as put a whole house into a 
flame of discord, and near consumed the 
silken Hymeneal ties with which a loving 
pair had long been bound. 

Mr. Chose was gravely reading the original 
Hafen Slawkenbergius at one side of the fire, 
and Mrs. Chose sat darning old black wors- 
tead stockings at the other. By some unto- 
ward accident, the fire-irons were all on Mrs. 
Chose's side. " My dear," said Mr. Chose, 
how miserable it makes me to gaze on any 
thing that looks un-uniform : be kind enough, 
my dear, to let me have the poker on my 
side." Mrs. Chose, who was busy taking a 
long stitch at the time, replied, " I'll give it 
you presently, my loye/W Nay, prythee, put 
me out of pain at once ; 'tis absolutely quite 
distressing to my eye — the fire-place looks 
like a sow with one ear."—" One fiddle- 
stick! How can you be so excessive whimsi- 
cal ?" " How d ye mean whimsical ?"— 






Xlviil tHIFACE TO 

* Lord, man! don t be so plaguy ficlgetty !? 
" Plaguy fidgetty ! No, madam ; I am no 
such thing !*' — M Pray, Sir, don't put yourself 
in such a fluster !" " I tell you I am not in 
a fluster !" — w I say, Sir, you are. For shame! 
how can you throw yourself in such a pas- 
sion." " I in a passion !"_" Yes, Sir, you 
are." " *Tis false r-> *Tis true !* "Ma- 
dam, 'tis no such thing." — " I say, it is such 
a thing." " I sa}-, 'tis no such a thing. 
'Sdeath ! do you think that I'll submit to such 
provoking language ? You shall submit." — 
" I wo'nt!" " You shall!"—- I shan't !" 
" I'll make you."— " You can't." " By 
Heavens, Madam!" — "By Heavens, Sir!" 
" Hold your tongue, Mrs. Chose!"—" I 
won't, Mr. Chose !" At it they went, ding- 
dong, with poker and tongs. The more he 
ranted, the more she raved : till at last, vying 
to outdo each other in provocation, the con- 
tention ran so high, that Mr. Chose declared 
he would not live with Mrs. Chose one hour 
longer ; and Mrs. Chose declared she would 
not sleep another night beneath the same 
roof, much less in the same bed. 

" Madam, said the husband, 'tis high time 
that Ave should part."—" With all my heart !" 
said the wife. -Agreed!" said he.— "Agreed!" 
echoed she. 

A lawyer was absolutely sent for, to draw 
up the deeds of separation ; but being " mi- 



MOS AND CONS. xllX 

rabifa dictu /" a peace-loving strife-quelling 
sort of man, he begged to hear the particu- 
lars that led them to come to such a harsh 
conclusion. He was ordered to proceed to 
business ; but obstinately persevered in his 
refusal. Addressing himself to the husband, 
he said, " Are you both fully agreed upon 
a separation ?" — " Yes, yes !" exclaimed 
both parties. " Well, Sir, what are your 
reasons for so doing ?" — H Sir, I can't inform 
you." M Madam, will you be so obliging as 
to acquaint me ?" — " Indeed, Sir, I cannot." 
" If that is the case," said the peace-loving 
lawyer, " I venture to pronounce your quarrel 
has originated in something so frivolous, that 
you are both ashamed to own it." He urged 
the point so closely that he at length extorted 
the truth ; nor did he desist from his friendly 
interference until he had the satisfaction to 
re-establish the most perfect harmony. — 
"Warned by his friendly admonitions, this 
wedded couple grew more circumspect in 
their words, less aggravating in their man* 
ners, and, in short, quite left off wrangling, 
and lived happy. 

Never forget, my good Pupil, that forbear- 
ance is a virtue, and that " a mild answer 
turneth away wrath." Do not sufter yourself 
to be disconcerted by trifles, and rather peace- 
ably submit to little provocations, than allow 
them to excite your indignation. Be not, 



I PREFACE TO 

moreover, a vindictive unforgiving husband, 
as wives sometimes, when mildly reproved, 
become sincerely penitent for their miscon- 
duct, and if pardoned, carefully avoid a repe- 
tition of their faults. Any inexorable, stern, 
unfeeling monster can enact the parts of judge 
and executioner; but to pity and forgive a 
culprit, are offices performed by none but the 
humane, the merciful, and the benevolent. 
Such are the beings I am bound to hold forth 
as examples worthy of the emulation, and the 
imitation of my Pupil. A well-timed act of 
mercy has been often known to work the re- 
formation of the most abandoned criminal ; 
but let us speak to facts : I can adduce a case 
that happened under my own observation. In 
the year of our Lord 1797, the wife of a sol- 
dier (belonging to a militia regiment encamp- 
ed at Brighton) in defiance of all articles of 
war, frequently presumed to quarrel with the 
superior officer, her husband. Her mother, 
speaking of her disposition, would allow she 
was a great spirit, which translated into plain 
English means a precious vixen ; this woman 
of spirit took it in her head not only to sub* 
mit her husband to the disciplina linguae (alias 
tongue-banging) but also to bestow on him 
from time to time such corporal punishment 
(although he was but a private) as the nature 
and degree of his offences seemed to merit. 
Becoming more insubordinate, she at last was 



PROS AND CONS. Vl 

*o mutinous as to break another formidable 
article of war, which denounces a terrific pe- 
nalty against all those who draw, or offer to 
draw, or lift up any weapon of offence against 
at superior. Not having the fear of this, or 
any other article before her eyes, this woman 
of spirit one day at dinner snatched up a knife, 
and in a fit of fury seized her husband by the 
throat, and cut his nose off. When this cir- 
cumstance was made public, every body 
agreed that the woman was wrong; and the 
commanding officer was so fully satisfied of it, 
that he condemned her to be drummed out of 
the regiment the next morning. When the 
woman heard the sentence, being grievously 
afflicted, she determined to execute a project 
that has been successfully performed by num- 
berless great heroines and celebrated beauties 
in all times and countries — she sought her 
judge, and falling on her knees, with tears, 
intreaties, lamentations, and most solemn 
promises of reformation, strove to move his 
pity. The Commandant, a man of genuine 
goodness and humanity, (who, for the consi- 
deration of obtaining a Tyburn Ticket, would 
not have endeavoured to procure the hanging 
of any man, iL'oman> or child in his majesty's 
dominions) not only suffered himself to be 
thus supplicated, but allowed himself to pity 
a woman who lay prostrate at his feet— blow- 
ing the dust off his boots with gusts of con* 



lii PREFACE TO 

trite sighs, and washing the rust off the rowels 
of his spurs with floods of penetential tears. 
" Woman," said he, " you have been guilty 
of a very barbarous and cruel action."— ." O! 
Sir, I am sensible of my misconduct" — " You 
have cut off your husband's nose!" — " I know 
I have, Sir, (replied the woman) but if your 
honour will be kind enough to excuse my 
being drumm'd out of the regiment, I promise 
I will never do so any more J" The officer re- 
lying on the woman's word, kindly forgave 
her ; nor had he occasion to repent this act 
of lenity — the woman perform'd her promise, 
for it is a well known fact, that she never did 
cut her husband's nose off any more. 

Thus you see the wonderful effect of well- 
tim'd mercy. May you be ever thus humane 
and generous — may you live in the society of 
your dear, dear Julia, to practise this, and 
every other virtue for a thousand years — and 
may she never cut your nose off. 

From the few desultory hints I have given 
you upon a subject that might be spun out 
into as many volumes as ever the famous Alex- 
andrian library contained, you will, I presume, 
begin to believe there are some Cons as well 
as Pros for Love and Marriage. 

Both ancient and modern authors of the 
greatest reputation for skill and veracity, have 
directed their attention to these interesting 
subjects. 



|?R06 AND CONS- 1X11 

They have painted a thousand different pic- 
tures of Cupid and Hymen, which, though at 

dissimilar to each other as light is to darkness, 
are still considered very striking likenesses of 
these two great Originals. 

Some, have painted them as fair as Angels, 
and others, as black as Devils. 

For my own part, after having Pro'd and 
Conn'd Cupid and Hymen with the grt-atest 
possible care and precision, I am led to form 
the following concise opinions of them, namely, 
that the aforesaid illustrious characters are 
made up of duplicity — yes, Sir, depend upon 
it they are very two-fold kind of fellows; and, 
J anus-like, possess two faces — one always 
smiling, the other always crying. 

As i hope some day to figure as a theorist 
in these matters, I shall not denominate my 
conclusions apothegms, inductions, axioms, 
&c. but adopt a term of my own. 

I shall say then, that after all my researches 
in the above subjects, I have only been able 
to discover four Instances — tw r o for Love, and 
two for Matrimony 

For instance, 
Cupid resembles a Bee in two instances: 

In the first instance (like a Bee) he can 
nourish us with the most delicious honey: 

And in the second instance, like a Bee he 
can sting us to death. 



liv 



PREFACE TO PROS AND CONS. 



And now for two instances of Matrimony- 
Marriage, in the first instance, is like two coo- 
ing Doves lock'd up together in a cage:— 
And in the second instance, like two Cats 
tied together by the tails, and thrown across 
a broomstick. 

And now, my good ingenuous pupil, and 
most gentle reader, fearing to exhaust your 
patience, I conclude myself 

Your ever faithful Tutor in Love, 
And Mentor in Matrimony, 

Marcus Urbanus. 



T>2 



According to Mr. Helicon, this Temple was first built 
Pro-Cupid, in Bardshire, he calls it Templum Beatis- 
siraum Amatcrum Felicissimorum ; alias, The Most 
Blessed Tempie of Most Happy Lovers. He acknow- 
ledges never to have been inside of it 5 because Julia pur- 
posely hampered the jock, to prevent his admission. He 
very often wanders about it, to admire the beautiful 
scenery 5 and occasionally sleeps whole nights at the cell 
of the door, because he thinks it gives him pleasant 
dreams. 

The road to this Temple is infinitely more delightful than 
any other ; being through groves like those of Paphos, 
along banks like tho^-e of Sharon, and over meads like 
those of Arcadia. This is the way Helicon went, after 
ascending Genius Height, climbing up Mount Learning, 
and various beautiful little hills and slopes, named after 
the Arts and Sciences. The rest of the journey was upon 
a gradual descent, through cultivation meadows, accom- 
plishment pleasure grounds, Sec. &c. tiii he came to a 
style called Infatuation, which leap he was able to take 
immeaiately, being mounted on a horse ca'led Enthu- 
siasm : to the left there is a narrow winding path that 
leads, co a private mad-house, built by one Squire Wer- 
ter. Helicon kept the right road, and went up Strong 

MindLdint directly to the Temple. N. B. Travellers 

may go to the left, if they choose, through Small Soul 
Alley, to the raad-house. 



PROS ANB CONS- 



DIALOGUE I. 



Helicon, Atticus, and Folio. 
u O'er Head and Ears in Love" 



u She may be well comparde 
u Unto the phoenix kinde, 

" Whose like was never seen or heard 
M That any man can finde." 



FOLIO. 

Again thus soon can you presume to show 

That banish' d face in Paternoster-Row ! 

Did not my housemaid chace you with her mop, 

And printers' devils hoot you from my shop ; 

Crack jokes upon your classical old wig, 

And call you sniveling sentimental prig ? 

While I consignM to literary Hell* 

Thee, and those works of thine that never sell ; 

Still crown 'd with dust, assorted by themselves, 

With vile dead-weight they load my groaning shelves. 

Ah, would I ne'er had hir'd thy luckless pen 

To write the histories of things and men ! 

Perish the strings of Love's harmonious lyre! 

Confound your bold flights ! Burn your Muse, all fire ! 

* A printer's cockloft, where condemned pieces are trea- 
sured up for the trunk-maker. 

D % 



68 

Curse your pathetic, fine, im passion 'd style ! 

Readers don't want to weep, they wish to smile* 

Plague take your tuneful eloquence, say I ; 

Let me haye something cheerful, queer, and dry ! 

Be monstrous comic, terrible ou*re ; 

And write to suit the manners of the day. 

This no fit season, no propitious time, 

For moral Bards to sermonize in rhyme. 

Write Novels to delight grown girls and boys, 

Such works, when fill'd with scandal, make much noise; 

Spectacles, Ballets, Pantomimes compose /// 

Or sing-song flim-flam scenes, still worse than those, 

ATTICUS. 

Have you no thieves, heroically base, 
With murd'rous enterprize our Stage to grace ? 
No outlaw* d fiends, magnanimously bold. 
Whose plans of vengeance make our blood run cold ; 
Who in the fustian rant of mock sublime, 
Shall frame just pleas for every hell-bora crime ? 
Renounce remorse, discard ingenuous shame, 
Extol false honour, sanctify false fame ; 
Style virtues, prejudices — Truth, a knave ; 
Call cut-throat cowards, honest, bold, and brave : 
And while the victims of Resentment bleed, 
Rid us applaud the grandeur of the deed. 
Then from the meanest ruffians of the gang 
Start some droll rogue, imbu'd with quaint queer slang ; 
This murd'rous Quixotte's Squire, with jokes galore, 
May keep the house in a perpetual roar : 
While in the gallery some victim youth, 
Who culls not from the scene one moral truth, 
Charm'd with the cave, the castle, and the wood, 
Pleas'd with a trade so noble, gay, and good ; 



59 

Enraptur'd, emulates the robber's part, 

And deeply grafts his vices on his heart. 

A piece like this the Town with rapture view, 

'Twill fill the Play-house, and your pockets too. 

FOLIO. 
Have you no pageant Melo- Dramas got, 
Devoid of moral, humour, sense, or plot ; 
In which rude sailors, much " bemus'd with beer, 
Mostly beastly loyal, vex some lady's ear ; 
Hiccup stale sentiments, and tritely deal 
In nauseous hacknied scraps of patriot zeal : 
Then agonize the critics of the pit 
With luhberb; attempts at naval wit ? 
If to the world such mawkish trash you give, 
Your fortune's made — in splendor you may live. 

ATTICUS. 

Yield not to views thus sordidly profane, 
Far from the Poet be such hopes of gain ; 
Scorn false renown, disdain the lust of cash, 
Nor stoop to please the world by writing trash : 
Write for the Critics, emulate their praise, 
Charm these chaste arbiters of classic lays; 
Who judge by each sublime and beauteous rule- 
All perfect masters in the old Greek school : 
Let such be pleas'd, make this your sov' reign pride, 
And perish all th' unlearned world beside ! 

HELICON. 

Give me to please one nymph divinely fair ; 
To win her favour is my first fond care ! 
Let me please Julia ! Venus grant me this : 
Her praise be mine — I seek no other bliss. 
d 4 



60 

If I find grace in her resplendent eyes, 

All other meeds of honour I despise ; 

If her fair hands consent my bays to weave, 

No meaner laurels shall these brows receive : 

Her charms my theme, her smiles my best reward, 

Each vulgar source of fame shall be abhorr'd. 

Shall I my cares on classic rules bestow ? 

Am I in love with the Reviewers ? — No ! 

To -celebrate my mistress is my pride, 

Critics I scorn, and all the world beside. 

FOLIO. 

Dare Bards scorn Critics ! Sure the man's insane : 
Cupid beyond all doubt has turn'd his brain ! 
Scorn Critics ! Friend, hast quarreil'd with thy meat ? 
Canst thou go naked ?— cease to drink and eat ? 
Can Julia's lips be sipp'd ? — her plump cheeks chew'd ? 
Are smiles good substitutes for cloaths and food ? 
Say, can the charms of thy enchanting fair 
Make thee, cameleon-like, subsist on air ? 
If so, I yield ; nor venture to deny, 
That Bards may dare the Critict to defy. 

ATTICUS. 

Rash Bard, forbear ! Imbu'd with their own phlegm, 
Judges to judge, and censors to condemn. 
Learn to respect and fear those dread Reviews, 
That make and unmake Authors when they choose ; 
That give the hungry Wit roast beef to carve, 
Or tell a Man of Letters he shall starve. 
Would all Wits' letters came in gold array M, 
And of good solid gingerbread were made : 



61 

Scholars no more their ringers then would gnaw, 
Or, in M fine frenzy,' ' strike an hungry craw I 

FOLIO. 

'Tis not enough that bounteous Heav'n thinks fit 
To give you wisdom, genius, taste, and wit ; 
Almighty Critics must bestow the same, 
Or small, alas ! will be your share of tame. 
Regard, with pious awe, these sons of pow'r, 
Whose pens such curses on your head can show'r : 
These, by abusing your poetic feet, 
May send you wand'ring barefoot through the street ; 
Reduce to beggary your babes and wife, 
Or get you snug in jail cag'd up for life. 
But say, with what intent most luckless swain, 
These doors you venture to besiege again ? 
Hast brought me more vile manuscripts to read ? 
Scribbler, avaunt ! your Satires ne'er succeed: 
You hunt down vices, lash each base excess, 
And rail against immodesty of dress ; 
No wonder, faith, your Muse gains no renown. 
And you in rags thus wander thro' the Tow ti. 
Go, you're too grave ; you are, upon my soul ! 
I want some wag, so exquisitely droll. 
That cynics, while they read h 5 tales ^f wit, 
Shall laugh till all their sides are like to split. 
Can you thus pleasingly pretend to write. 
Assume the gay, the cheerful, md the light ; 
Regale with jokes a laughter-loving r 
And with broad grins array that frownin^ face ? 
Can you in games of romps employ the Nine, 
And stick old Momus in Apollo's shrine 1 

D 5 



69 



HELICON. 



Defend me, Phoebus ! from a thought so base ; 
No ribald lays thy Temple shall disgrace ! 
Shall I invoke Aonia's sacred throng, 
With scurril clamour to pollute my song ? 
Ah, ne'er till Marsias wins Apollo's lute, 
And Pan's rude pipe excells Thalia's flute ! 
Perish old Momus, and his Satyr train ! 
May Venus triumph, and let Cupid reign ! 
To them my vassal spirit 1 resign, 
O, rule me, Venus ! 1 am wholly thine ! 
O, fttd my passion ! — fan my rising flame I 
For Julia and Venus are the same. 
Immortal is her fame : to Julia's praise 
1 tune my lyre, and consecrate my lays ; 
Her image o'er each thought presides supreme, 
Her worth supplies an everlasting theme. 
O, boundless source of exquisite delight ! 
For her I live, I feel, I think, I write : 
On Metaphor's bold wings she bids me rise, 
And lifts my soul sublimely to the skies ; 
Where close to Venus, Fancy's Temple rears 
A dome that shines amidst a host of spheres : 
There the tranc'd Poet feasts, without alloy, 
On bliss superior to mortal joy ; 
Wrapp'd in delicious dreams, his soul pursues 
Romantic schemes, and dear Eutopian views : 
There, with Imagination's fine keen ken, 
He thinks he sees a race of perfect men !!! 
Then with loud peals of joy proclaims the sight 
Of realms where all seems good> and all goes right ; 



63 

And with his angel-mistress seeks that shou, 
Where virtue reigns, and sorrow is no more. 

ATTICUS. 

By Hymen, Cupid, Venus, and her clove ! 
Our Bard has plung'd o'er head and ears in love. 
What a cheap state of luxury is thine, 
Thus to get drunk with love instead of wine ! 

HELICON. 

O, ever boozy may I thus remain ! 
Still may such fumes intoxicate my brain ! 
I scorn, chill Apathy ! thy sober lot : 
If love can make me drunk, I'll die a sot. 

FOLIO. 

Well said, Silenus ! Faith, 'twill show good spunk, 
At Julia's beauteous feet to fall dead drunk. 
But say, thou man of Bacchus, love, and woe, 
What bade thee reel to Paternoster-Row ? 

HELICON. 

To print this Volume, big with tuneful strains 
Of tender virgins and enamour'd swains. 
Love and the maid I sing— my Muse grows proud ; 
Joys throng on }oys, on raptures raptures crowd : 
Nymphs, shepherdesses, goddesses, and queens, 
Sport on my meeds, and revel on my greens ; 
Shepherd philosophers, poetic fawns, 
And learned princes lounge upon my lawns ; 
On my gay banks no gloomy critics sit, 
Arch-foes to love, and enemies to wit ; 
d6 



m 

Nor other monsters prowl about my groves, 

No shaggy Centaurs lurk near my alcoves ; 

No Polyphemus haunts my rocks and glades, 

To stun with growls my murmuring cascades ; 

No filthy Satyrs scare my nymphs' chaste eyes, 

Or take them in the bushes by surprise : 

Fearless they cast aside their purple cloaths, 

And show their charms to many a blushing rose ; 

Then sport in streams, as their own persons pure, 

From harm protected, and from lust secure. 

Perch 'd high 'midst laurels poets gaily sing, 

To welccme Cupid, Hymen, Love, and Spring; 

Theocritus and Virgil still rehearse 

New tales of love, in sweet alternate verse ; 

Tibullus, Ovid, Petrarch, warble here, 

And Shenstone high o'er all supremely dear, 

His artless delicately tender strains 

Sing Love's best cares, and all its pleasing pains. 

Led by the Graces to the Muse's seat, 

Venus and Erato their Laureat greet ; 

Weave his gay wreath, and then with fond regard 

Bid Cupid crown him Love's most fav'rite Bard. 

Such, Julia, are the birds, whose notes resound 

In Fancy's Paradise, and Love's choice ground ; 

Applaud their raptures, bless their skill divine, 

And praise their numbers, for their songs are thine. 

A better heroine no Bard could choose 

To grace his talents, and exalt his Muse : 

Can we too oft, too tenderly v ^oeat 

A name like hers, so musically sweet ? 

Can we too frequently such .harp-strings touch, 

Or praise her charms too often, or too much ? 



05 

The sea shall stagnate, spheres shall cease to move, 

Ere I exhaust such themes, and cease to love. 

Five hundred sonnets celebrate her face, 

A thousand more commemorate each ^race I 

In twelve I rave — in twenty weep and sigh ; 

In five I wish to live — in twelve to die ; 

In nine I call her cruel, cold, and fair; 

In one I hope — in fifty I despair ! 

Accept these works, commit them to the press, 

My Julia's name shall stamp them with success. 

Her worth and beauty charm th' enamour'd town, 

To hymn her praise, is infinite ienown. 

Be such my mead — all others I forswear, 

The gold be thine, for riches are thy care : 

I ask nor recompence, nor fame, nor praise, 

And only seek in love to spend my days. 

FOLIO. 

Thee and thy Works to Willis I resign ; 
If Bedlam boasts one empty cell, 'tis thine. 



DIALOGUE II. 



Biddy, Maria, Nancy, and Nannette.* 
" Welcome Flirtation J" 



BIDDY. 

bwEET is the love of dress, and dear the pride 
O'er caps and gowns supremely to preside : 
To rule the realms of taste with boundless sway, 
And lead the gew-gaw fashions of the day> 

NANNETTE. 

'Tis no poor meed of praise, no mean renown, 
With bon-ton laws to subjugate the town ; 
Nor less i love, the Graces in my train, 
High Lady Paramount at Bath to reign ; 
To lead a dance off at a Lord Mayor's Ball, 
Shine in Hyde Park, and sparkle at Vauxhall. 

* The Temple in which these gay young ladies gave 
their votes Pro Cupid wa* built by the renowned Constantia 
Fickle. It is situated in the very heart of Flirtshire j the 
road to it is up Cold Constitution Hill, past Insensate House, 
Affectation Hall, Self-love Place, Single Field, Tabbies 
Green, and Old Maids Common — none but coquettes go 
there. 



67 



K ANNETTE. 

Proud is such fame, nor meaner is the boast, 
Midst Bacchanalian bucks to reign chief toast ; 
To drown whole hosts of wits in floods of wine, 
And turn, like second Circes, men to swine. 

NANCY. 

Such, Beauty, is thy prowess. Belles with ease 
Triumphant shine in glorious feats like these : 
But, Oh 1 to dance, to sing, to draw, to paint, 
Or play like sweet Cecilia, Music's Saint ; 
To lead Bon Ton, new fashions to declare, 
And tell subservient crowds what cloaths to wear ; 
Poor are such triumphs ! Cupid leads my van ; 
Ah ! what's the love of dress to love of man ? 
Place me, dear Venus, on Affection's throne ! 
O, gird my waist with thy resistless zone ! 
And give these hands those matchless arms to wield, 
To which e'en Mars himself was proud to yield ! 
Give me, thou lovely daughter of the main, 
Wide empire, large dominion, boundless reign ! 
To govern Kings, Commanders to command, 
To rule the very rulers of the land ; 
And make proud man, Creation's lord of all, 
In abject suppliance at my footstool fall ! 

BIDDY. 

5 Tis no mean praise G'assini to excel, 
From Krumpholtz, on the harp, to bear the bell; 
Or read, in print, that Steibelt, Smart, and Shield, 
To me the palm of excellence must yield : 
Ah ! judge my raptures while extoll'd so much, 
For infinite rapidity of touch ! 



68 



MARIA. 

Be thine such meeds of covetous desire ; 
May crowds applaud thee, and may mobs admire! 
Such schemes of conquest, love-sick girls delight ; 
Of this they think all day, and dream all night* 
To snare vain fops, let flirts with harlots vie, 
I scorn such conquests, and disdain to try. 

NANCY. 

May'C upid's best gold shaft thy bosom wound ! 
In Love's strong fetters may that heart be bound ! 
Oh, may the fondest fiercest wishes join, 
To agonize thee with a flame like mine ! 

MAUI A. 

As Anglia's cliffs are seen, with conscious pride, 
The sea's insulting billows to deride : 
So this free heart Love's feeble malice mocks, 
Hard, cold, and reckless, as yon sea-beat rocks. 

N ANNETTE. 

Happy the nymph, whose breast indifT'rence steels; 
Who no keen instinct of affection feels; 
Who views e'en beaux witn undesigning cyes 9 
And, fop-proof, turns deaf ears to coxcomb sighs ! 
My throbbing heart for other feelings move- 
There fate has planted all the seeds of love ; 
There fond ideus never cease to grow, 
And fairest blossoms of arlecuon blow ! 

NANCY. 
The same dear buds within my bosom shoot : 
There passion springs from many a tender root ; 



09 

There love's gay flowers in quick succession rise, 
Like tulips various, endless as their dyes. 

MARIA. 

Of all the fops, who round your toilette sport, 
And come in droves to pay their am'rous court, 
Confess which coxcomb suitor woos thee best, 
And who is most with approbation blest ? 

NANCY. 

Who best makes love, 'tis difficult to tell, 
Each charming coxcomb pleads his cause so well. 
By turns they woo ; in turns I love them all ; 
No victim beau by my disdain shall fall. 

N ANNETTE. 

Lord of that heart some darling coxcomb reigns, 
Proudly triumphant o'er all rival swains : 
Why thus the truth conceal with maiden shame, 
Divulge in confidence your fav' rite's name ? 
There is some youth than all tne rest more dear * r 
Come, tell me, Nancy ! whisper in mine ear ? 

NANCY. 

All dear ! all happy ! — with no whisp'ring voice- 
1 scorn all pref 'rence, and disclaim all choice : 
No sly reserve my lib'ral passion feels, 
This heart, like cards, divided favour deals ; 
This heart disdains the prude in love too nice, 
And shifts good luck, as chance directs the dice. 

N ANNETTE. 

Despair pursues me now where'er I fly, 
To snare one scornful buck I vainly try : 



70 

He slights my charms, and skips from fair to fair, 
Free as the wind, and lighter than the air. 

NANCY. 
Let not one rebel love defeat your aim, 
Those eyes have fire to spread a wider flame : 
Still leave this buck in freedom's paths to range, 
Yourself a belle, should learn like him to change. 

MARIA. 

Ye gay coquettes, whose captivating airs 
Surround men's hearts with Love's insidious snares ; 
Who, perfect in the science of deceit, 
At love, or loo, with equal skill can cheat ; 
And practise frauds with such bewitching grace, 
As dupe both rakes and gamesters face to face ! 
What matchless gifts — what talents ye possess, 
So many rival beaux with hopes to bless ! 
Methinks I see the long afPicted train 
Your boundless sympathy relieves from pain. 
The ma.i of feeling thus consoles the poor, 
Who with their woes besiege his friendly door : 
The good physician kindly thus prescribes 
Instant relief to misery's worst tribes. 
Ye changeling nymphs ! Ye universal toasts ! 
Of whose best favours many a coxcomb boasts ! 
What focd for mirth must each fear-found' ring word, 
Each far-fetch' d stutt'ring compliment afford ; 
When bashful youths, affectionately dumb, 
Half-choak'd with dread, cough up an am'rous hum I 

BIDDY. 

A country booby, and a town-bred wit, 
A College pedant, and a coxcomb cit, 



71 

In turns their various eloquence display, 
And each excells in his peculiar way. 
The squire in jockey style, and groom-like phrase, 
On rural sports his rhetoric displays ; 
Descants on horses, sorrels, greys, and duns, 
Talks of his hawks, his pointers, and his guns ; 
Then with shrewd shrugs, loud shouts, and broad gri- 
mace, 
Describes a hunt, a cock-fignt, or a race : 
If I consent to take his honest hand, 
He'll make me ruler of his house and land ; 
Teach me to hunt, to fish, to shoot, to skait, 
And learn me how to leap a five-bar gate. 
The wit aspires his brilliant pow'rs to snow, 
In endless flights of satire and bon-mot ; 
No word or thought unpunish'd can escape, 
He twists all sense and meaning out of shape : 
u Pardon, dear maid," he cries, with serious air, 
f< 'Tis rude to right our wrongs before the fair ; 
*' But how can we forbear to come to blows, 
t% When fierce rappee thus takes us by the nose*" 
In vain to find his wit I rack my brains— 
A pocket-handkerchief his jest explains ! 

MARIA. 

Spare us such equivoque ! — 'tis dull enough, 
When wits crack jokes on one vile pinch of snufF! 

BIDDY. 

To-day he made a more audacious pun : 
He wish'd my breast held naked to the sun ; 



72 



As by experiment he fain would know, 

If heat had power to melt such human snow. 

MARIA. 

Strange courtship this ! — Dismiss the punning pest, 
Who thus jocosely quibbles on your breast, 

BIDDY, 

cf Would," he once cried, " I to a moth was turned! 
" I'd flutter round 'hose eyes till I was burn'd : 
** Then love's sad martyr, on those lips divine, 
u My last fond breath with extasy resign 1" 
My pedant swain sits wrapp'd in reveries, 
He cracks no jokes, and makes no repartees ; 
His love is mathematically told, 
Problems and signs his sentiments unfold : 
He, when desir'd his wishes to expound, 
Draws figures with his cane upon the ground ; 
And when he ought to kiss these glowing lips, 
The brute sits casting up the moon's eclipse. 
The vulgar cit, a second-handed beau, 
Attempts, with awkward airs, his rank to show; 
Tho' bred and born in Norton-Falgate Ward, 
He vainly emulates the spendthrift lord : 
Love makes him gen'rous to the last degree, 
He xoows he'll build a country-box for me, 
And on the morn the marriage knot is tied, 
I in a chay and four from church shall ride, 
Then on his knees he begs a lock of hair- 

MARIA. 

Which from a cast-off wig you deign to spare. 



7* 



NANCY. 
Peace, lovely shrew ! Reserve such keen remarks, 
To lash yon silly group of Bond-street sparks : 
Their monstrous faults in satire's mirror seen, 
Shall furnish food to gorge each craving spleen. 
They come : — Sdlute them, dear sarcastic girl ! 
Welcome flirtation ! — Vioc la Bagatelle / 



DIALOGUE III. 

Lovemore and Julius.* 
The Cure. 
u The hidden traynes I know, and secret snares of lore.' 



LOVEMORE, 

il know the sex, have studied all their ways, 

At routes, assemblies, masquerades, and plays ; 

In ail those scenes where, free from fear and shame* 

At cards or love they play the deepest game. 

1 know them ail, thro' every stage of life, 

As maid, as widow, mistress, friend, and wife : 

* The Temple in which the gentle Julius first offered up 
the vows of his ingenuous heart, is built on the rock of 
Truth, in the plains of Sincerity. Those who wish to go 
there, may go over Swainsted Heath, through Shepherd's 
Fields, Spring Place, Valentine Green, through Doving- 



74 

From her who rides to court in splendid pomp, 

To her who in the kitchen plays the romp ; 

From high to low, magnificent to mean, 

From Baroness to milk-maid, cook to Queen : 

I know the pale-fac'd muslin-vested fair, 

Who goes to chapel with a contrite air ; 

Sighs full confession to each charge she hears, 

And at each sermon sheds a quart of tears : 

I know some nymphs, with carnal zeal inspir'd, 

Who only go to church to get admir'd : 

I know of rural belles the buxom trains, 

Who flock in barns, to flirt with bumpkin swains ; 

Those humble heroines of wakes and fairs, 

Who love at puppet-shews to shew their airs ; 

ton, Cooington, and Billington, over Mount Constancy, 
along the hundreds of Candour, and straight up True-love 
Lane. 

Cselia's Temple is on the borders of Flhtshire. She ap- 
pointed Julius to meet her there, choosing to be worshipped 
in no Temple but her own. He is endeavouring to get 
there as fast as he can : but it is supposed he will not 
soon get to his journey's end ; as in taking the road she 
directed, he got into the maze of Caprice, and cannot find 
his way out of it without her assistance. 

As for Lovemore, who at the age of twenty «one obtained 
a pair of colours in the Guards, with the degree of Master 
of Female Arts, and who is now Doctor of Love, and Colo- 
nel of Dragoons, he pretends to have visited every Temple 
of Cupid throughout our amorous dominions 5 but Helicon, 
who has looked through the key-hole of the Bardshire Tem- 
ple, says, he never saw his name upon the walls, though he 
discovered those of Fetrarch and Laura, Abelard and Eloisa, 
Yorick and Eliza, &c. &c. 






7.5 

And wfaHe they titter at tlie clown's droll jokes, 

Hide their red faces in their redder cloaks. 

I know the sex full well, no watchful dam 

More truly knows the bleat of her own lamb. 

I know each deep-laid art, each sly finesse, 

Why some for man a boundless love profess : 

Yet while they seem thus scorch' d with am'rous fire. 

Are cold within, and dead to all desire: 

Why some who seem unfeeling, cold, and proud, 

Despise in public, and condemn aloud : 

Within their breasts sustain a diff 'rent part, 

And long in secret nurse a bleeding heart ; 

Till faded cheeks, and grief's distracted air, 

Betray the latent motives of despair. 

I learnt not woman from the fictious page, 
Penn'd by some old sequester'd book-worm sage. 
The world my only school, I studied there, 
And read them, one and all, with critic care. 
No learned Rake hath e'er excell'd my fame, 
Master of Female Arts, first grae'd my name ; 
But now, accomplished to the last degree, 
Doctor of Love— I write myself — A. D. 

JULIUS. 

Illustrious Sage ! whose all-discerning eyes 
Can pierce thro' love's most mystical disguise; 
Teach me to know the sex, to foil their arts, 
And read the secret wishes of their hearts. 

LOVEMORE. 

The soul's fair candour shining in thy face, 
In all thy looks, ingenuous truth I trace; 
Meek, inoffensive, modest, bashful, young, 
You plead your wishes with a falt'ring tongue^ 



76 

To Love and Flattery's specious arts unknown, 
O could I pass that sentence on my own ! 
Then many a love-lorn, poor, deserted fair, 
Should cease to mourn, to languish, and despair : 
Sighs then might change to smiles, and many an eye 
Should learn to sparkle, and forget to cry. 

JULIUS. 

Pity a wretch, who tenderly caress' d 
A treach'rous snake, who stings his fost'ring breast; 
One gay Coquette with absolute controul 
Rules my fond heart, and subjugates my soul. 
Teach me this abject passion to subdue, 
Or learn me with success the nymph to woo. 






LOVEMORE. 

Say, in atonement for what secret guilt, 
Has Heav'n decreed that you should love a jilt? 
If you the blood of martyr'd saints had shed, 
Fate could not show'r more vengeance on your head. 
Love a Coquette ! this extasy forgive, 
Stab, shoot, hang, drown — do any thing but live. 

JULIUS. 

Still by delusive hopes of bliss betray'd, 
Still must I love this captivating maid ; 
Still vent reproaches, still entreat, complain, 
And still submit to play the fool in vain. 
Wit, madman, poet, nay her slave I've turn'd, 
But by the scornful tyrant still am spurn' d. 

LOVEMORE. 

Spurn'd! and with justice — in what fatal hour 
What daemon bade thee crouch to Cilia's pow'r? 






T7 

By thee exalted to a despot's throne, 
Triumph and glory dwell in her alone. 
With scorn she now :eceives thy loyal praise, 
Feels all the crown, and all the sceptre sways. 

JULIUS* 

Skill' d to delight, she knows each pleasing art, 
With fond desires to tantalize the heart : 
Accomplished, wise, and wittier than fair, 
Each word a letter, and each look a snare ; 
Each sense, at once triumphant, she assails, 
How well she reasons, with what wit she rails. 
My feelings she torments with matchless skill, 
My passions all are servants of her will; 
Now with cold scorn the nymph my peace destroys, 
Now fills my bosom with tumultuous joys ; 
Pires me with hopes when most oppress 'd with fears. 
And with one look converts my smiles to tears : 
Then tenderly commiserates my pain, 
To point more keen the insults of disdain. 

LOVEMORE. 
Tn one fair jilt, behold the worst of foes, 
W ho wages Cupid's war with twofold blows : 
She comes equipp'd with beauty's keenest arms, 
And calls in Wit to head a host of charms. 
Beware the nymph— decline th' unequal fight, 
•Form'd to seduce, and sifted to delight. 
Her airs amuse, her pertness you admire, 
Her petulance gives birth to new desire : 
Her worst caprices fascinating prove, 
And ey'n her faults provocatives of lore. 



'78 



JULIUS. 



How' hard, alas ! how wayward is my fate, 
To love a being I should learn to hate ! 
"What rash resolves, indignant, I have made, 
To fly for ever from this faithless jade ! 
How have I groan'd beneath her galling yoke ! 
How many vows to break it — have I broke ! 
E'en to my friend I blush such truths to tell, 
Alas ! I know not how to say — Farewell ! 
This morn I strove to break the fatal tie, 
And from the cruel maid resolv'd to fly : 
€i Adieu, for ever ! scornful maid! ,, I cried, 
** At least, adieu for ever ! to thy pride ; 
** Thy many virtues still my breast shall warm, 
" I still must idolize that matchless form ; 
* 6 Long shall the mem'ry of thy wit delight, 
" Long that dear face be present to my sight : 
*' But while far hence I breathe my fruitless sighs, 
<c And struggle with the passion I despise, 
66 Dear as thou art, and tenderly ador'd, 
€i Thy pride and cruelty shall be deplor'd : 
" Yes, lovely, cold, and faithless as thou art, 
t( I'll strive to tear thy mem'ry from my heart !" 
Tears to my eyes with childless weakness came, 
I turn'd to hide them with an honest shame ; 
But strove in vain : — my fait' ring speech they stopt, 
And o'er my burning cheeks in torrents dropt. 

LOYEMORE. 

And did she seem, insultingly serene, 
Cold and unmovM by this pathetic scene ? 



79 

Could she without emotion proudly stamt, 
To see thee thus degraded and unmann'd i 

JULIUS. 

Mov'd at my tears, and melted at my woes, 
A sudden conflict in her breast arose : 
* c May you more happily your love pursue ! M 
Sobbing she said, and then in tears withdrew. 

LOVEMORE. 

O, little skill'd in woman! who can find 
A true coquette with a relenting mind? 
In tears, and all confus'd, your mistress fled— 
Coquettes, my Julius, have no tears to shed ; 
They play a cold and unimpassion'd part, 
Without one feeling fibre in the heart. 

JULIUS. 

I claim no skill in women ; and confess 
None loves them better, and yet knows them less : 
An ardent wish to please them, is my most ; 
A constant passion, all that I can boast, 

LOVEMORE. 

This might suffice, if faith and truth could moYC- 
If flirts had minds susceptible of love— 
If hearts, more cold and obdurate than steel, 
Were blest with a capacity to feel. 

JULIUS. 

Teach me the pow'r to break her tyrant chains 
And make a long quietus to my pains. 



80 



LOVEMORE 



Tho 5 no big wig adorns this sapient ace, 
Mine is the skill to comprehend your case; 
In me the best of all physicians see, 
Who gives advice, yet scorns to take a fee. 
Once more approach this gay bewitching fair, 
Joy in your looks, and freedom in your air ; 
Give not her fav'rite bird one fond caress, 
Affront her lap-dog, criticise her dress ; 
If grave, affect her sadness not to see, 
If sprightly, drown her mirth with louder glee j 
Talks she with humour, condescend to pun. 
Let her in wit and satire be outdone ; 
AH thoughts of courtship artfully resign, 
All tender topics cautiously decline; 
The comforts of celibacy commend, 
Offer advice, profess yourself her friend !!! 
Praise her proud rivals, on the ir beauties dwell. 
How some in dancing, some in dress excel ; 
Let her the pangs of jealousy endure, 
No sting, no w T ound, no poison works so sure • 
Coquettes themselves with rakes are still at war, 
Covet their homage, and their slights abhor ; 
And most aspire those meteors to confine, 
Who change like them, and as unsettled shine : 
Applaud these rakes, approve their love of change, 
And swear that men, like bees, were born to range* 
If at such small-talk stuff* she takes offence, 
Disdain to speak five words of common sense ; 
Scoff at vile moral themes, too chaste and pure, 
Too dull for sprightly beauties to endure ; 



81 

Then with gay unconcern a song request, 

Thro' pique, with tenderness she sings her best ; 

Sings a sweet dirge, in tones so heav'nly clear, 

That list' ning angels might delight to hear : 

Yet, though enraptur'd at her matchless skill, 

At each pathetic note your cheek grows chill — 

Tho' with big throbs of grief your heart beats high, 

And your swoln bosom pants to breathe a sigh — 

Let no wild extasies your looks display, 

Restrain the tears that would your thoughts betray ; 

And though your blood feels ready to congeal, 

Each strong emotion still with art conceal ; 

But when the lovely Syren ends her lays, 

And darts a look that seems to challenge praise, 

Lament the hoarseness of her charming voice ; 

Boldly dispute the judgment of her choice ; 

Pronounce the subject hacknied, trite, and low, 

The music vulgar, and the words so so. 

Now at your watch with feign'd importance stare, 

Affect surprise, and vaulting from your chair, 

Assume an air most freezingly polite, 

Nod, and in Fashion's language lisp — Good-night. 

If Caelia loves, she's yours — her die is cast, 

The day of scorn and tyranny is past : 

She fears to lose, what loving, she would hold, 

And just grows warm, when you appear too cold* 

Wait this auspicious change, the crisis seize, 

Revive with skill some tender arts to please : 

Yet bar all extasy — no transports use — 

u She stoops to conquer," Julius — you to lose : 

Resume the slave, she'll soon resume her rei?n, 

And mount the throne of tyranny again. 

£3 



m 



JULIUS. 



I like your plan, but dread a part to take 
That claims the boldness of a town-bred rake : 
Too well I know the pow'r of Csclia's eyes— 
I love too much my fondness to disguise ; 
The ill-feign' d part would sure detection meet* 
For Love's a perfect bungler at deceit. 



LOT EM ORE. 

Then fly this fair tormenter of your rest 
W ide as the Poles, or far as East from West t 
As oft in absence, swains are said to find 
An opiate charm to cure the love-sick mind, 
And foreign climes specific balms impart, 
To heal the ulcers of a wounded heart ; 
When fourscore years of exile you endure, 
Perchance old Doctor Time may work your cure* 
But know, if tortur'd with this dire disease, 
Your urgent case demands immediate ease, 
One only mode of instant cure remains- 
Take up a pistol, and blow out your brains. 



DIALOGUE IV. 



Frederick and Theodore.* 

Love's Exile. 

49 Let the aspiring youth beware of Love." 



THEODORE. 

Jb a r from yon sordid purse-proud wretch retire, 
Whose fierce eye gleams with scorn's insulting fire: 
1 loathe the wretch, who, free from care and pain, 
Regards the child of Sorrow with disdain ; 
Who looks at W^oe, the object to deride, 
And gives to W r ant the charities of Pride. 

* Frederic and Julia, kneeling at Cupid's noblest Altar 
in the blessed Temple of Most Happy Lovers, there so- 
lemnly exchanged vows of eternal constancy and love $ and 
ere they parted, bound themselves to hold their next meeting 
at a far-fam'd Hymeneal Temple, built by a blacksmith in 
a place called Gretna Green : but in the very hour of assig- 
nation, Julia having been discovered by her father, a being 
with a heart dead to all passions but the love of money, she 
was instantly incarcerated, to prevent her perpetrating such a 
crime as marriage with a poor good man. Condemned to 
solitude, she pines away, the victim of despairing love; 
and there, ere long, this unrelenting parent, with a satis- 
e 4 



84 

Away ! Yen gorgeous dome my sight annoys, 

Barren of festive scenes and social joys ; 

Unknown to Pleasure's most refln'd delights* 

Domestic charms, and hospitable rites : 

Within a tribe of parasites are seen, 

Vilest of vassals, meanest of the mean ; 

An abject crowd of favour-hunting knaves, 

More base than bondsmen, and less fret than slaves ; 

Who with all mental independence p*art, 

And sell each birth-right of the free-born heart ; 

A selfish, grov'ling, coz ning, greedy set, 

For no good end or gen'rous purpose met ; 

Conven'd, thro' form, their servile meals to eat, 

To make the sumptuous banquet look complete. 

Yet tho 5 these famish'd knaves, oppressed with need* 

At yon proud Nabob shrine thus grandly feed ; 

Tho' for their wants superbly to provide 

Proves yon imperious glutton's first great pride : 

Yet how fallacious is the vulgar thought, 

That pamper'd parasites exist for nought ! 

faction worthy of a miser, shall enjoy the happiness to close 
the dying eyes of an only child, a worthy, beautiful, ac- 
complished creature, horn to be the boast and ornament of 
virtuous society. 

While Frederick, with an elevation of sentiment and a 
degree of magnanimity that exalts the lover to the hero, 
accepts a lot of certain misery, with the benignant hope of 
rendering less wretched her whose happiness he values far 
beyond his own 5 Theodore, cursing alike the God of Love 
and the God of Money, seated in the Temple of Friendship, 
now philosophically ruminates on wretchedness, and traces 
to the source of love and avarice nine-tenths of the calami- 
ties with which the human race are visited. 



. 



8a 

At heavy costs the mean dependents dine, 

Their host is paid with Flatt'ry's basest coin ; 

With fictious praises of fictitious worth, 

With mock civilities, and ill-feign'd mirth. 

Come seek with me the bow'r where Silence reign*, 

Which Wealth abandons, and which Pride disdains : 

Sad is the scene, and suited to despair, 

In these dark groves I long shall nurse my care ; 

Sweet is that bow'r, and still the shrine most dear, 

Where we to Petrarch rais'd our votive bier ; 

Where oft we stray'd, our mutual grief to quell, 

And youth's light cares in confidence to tell ; 

Where oft, attun'd to tenderness, we heard 

Night's sweet pathetic sentimental bird ; 

And as the melodist his woes rehears'd, 

On friendship, love, and sympathy convers'd. 

! call'd from scenes like these, to loathsome climes, 
At once the seat of miseries and crimes ; 
Consigned to offices that ill befit 

The man of learning, fancy, taste, and wit ; 
Call'd to employments that disgust create, 

1 feel your sorrows, and lament your fate ! 
For well I know you loath the world's deceit, 
How much you scorn the courtier's guile to greet ; 
How much that heart for social commerce made, 
Disdains the mysteries of sordid trade : 

By Genius quicken'd, and by Fancy warm'd, 
For no mechanic art that mind was form'd ; 
Alas ! by Fate 'twas mournfully decreed, 
For others woes with tenderness to bleed ; 
To feel in vain the glow of Virtue's fire, 
The just resolve, and generous desire, 
e 5 



86 

Why are the means of chanty witheld 

From men whose hearts to virtue are irrpeUM * 

Fortune to thee no splendid birth-right gave, 

O ! had she form'd thee some dependent slave ; 

Some wretch to no strict sense of honour bred, 

To each keen sense of delicacy dead ; 

Then many a care that bosom should forego, 

And lose the pang of many a gen'rous woe. 

O ! with a hand how partially absurd, 

Thy gifts blind Fortune seem on man conferr'd ! 

Why, in one liberal enlighten'd mind 

Is abject Poverty with Feeling join'd ? 

Why is a bosom warm'd with just disdain, 

A base dependence fated to sustain ? 

While on some niggard worthless wretch you show't 

Wealth, titles, honours, dignity and pow'r. 

Why are such bounties grossly thus misplac'd, 

On men, devoid of feeling, sense, and taste; 

Whose breasts no throb of tenderness e'er fill'd, 

Whose hearts with sov'reign apathy are chill'd ? 

These might dependence rightfully endure, 

For such, O Fortune, merit to be poor. 

FREDERICK. 

Forbear, my friend, with reason's impious pride 
The sacred will of Providence to chide : 
To Heav'n's designs impute not man's defects, 
Unerring Wisdom each great scheme directs. 
Train' d to distress, to disappointment born, 
Traduc'd by malice, and oppress'd by scorn. 
Tho' Fortune deigns no favours to bestow, 
And Fate has mark'd me for a child of woe, 
No vain regret my passions shall inflame, 
No impious murmurs shall my tongue proclaim; 



87 

Rut oft to Ileav'n I'll urge a humble pray'r, 
That I with fortitude my lot may bear. 

THEODORE. 

Well hast thou clone, such impious warmth to chide. 
Teach me to emulate thy virtuous pride : 
Teach me, like thee, with patience to sustain 
The pangs of sickness, poverty, and pain. 
For O, I blush my weakness to disclose, 
My spirit sinks unequal to my woes ; 
In plaintive strains, my vain regrets I vent, 
And waste my life in secret discontent. 

! how dependent now my dreary views, 
In thee my best, my only friend I lose. 
Who now with hope shall animate my breast ? 
Who now shall cheer me when with cares oppress'd, 
When on the bed of sickness I recline, 

And o'er the miseries of want repine ? 

1 scorn the beggar, on whose abject face 
Shame stamps the deepest stigmas of disgrace. 
This aching heart shall ne'er that curse sustain, 
An humble suppliant to the proud in vain. 
Shall swoln beneficence relieve my need, 
While ostentation boasts the gen'rous deed? 
Shall mean petitions court such aids as these, 
Aids, where 'tis worse than pain, to seek for ease? 
Ne'er shall this hand be basely seen to hold 

The sordid tribute of the proud man's gold* 
An honest scorn new energy snail lend, 
From mean desires my bosom to defend ; 
Fire my big heart, and wake each feeling nerve, 
The dignity of virtue to preserve. 
i 6 



88 



FREDERICK. 

Sad is the lot of poverty to bear 
By him who proves no tender parents' care I 
Whom fortune's minions scornfully neglect^ 
And proud superiors treat with disrespect. 
Such is too oft the fate of wit and worth, 
The sport of ignorance, and envy's mirth. 
Where is that wretch, devoid of ^classic taste, 
Whose vulgar mind no genial virtues grac'd ? 
That man, who rais'd thee with a patron's hand.* 
A venal strain of flatt'ry to command ; 
But when th' indignant Muse the boon refus'd, 
And his vain hopes thy candour disabus'd, 
Cold was this warm supporter of thy fame, 
And soon renounc'd the bounteous patron's name. 
Nor should he own, whose arrogance sustain' d 
A charge which selfishness and folly stain'd. 
O bane of letters! scandal to the Muse, 
©n names like thine, shall rhetoric grow profuse. 
For thee shall melody's best harp be strung, 
Shall deeds like thine with harmony be sung ? 
For thee, prolan 'd, shall plaintive sonnets flow, 
And dedications big with falshood glow ? 
Forbid it justice, and that spotless pride 
Which scorns from honour, and from truth to slide* 

THEODORE. 

With joy my vain Maecenas I resign'd, 
A^d to oblivion soon his name consign' d : 
So light a loss shall patiently be borne, 
Far other griefs are left me now to mourn* 
Ordain'd with ceaseless anguish to deplore 
A friend thus exiFd from his native shore* 



89 



FREDERICK* 

Ye peaceful vales, that now so doubly dear, 
So sadly pleasing to my sight appear ! 
Ye scenes, where long in peace I hop'd to dwell ! 
Receive my last affectionate farewell. 
The fading landscape now with tears I view, 
And sigh to ev'ry tree a fond adieu ! 
While twilight tints yon clouds with purple rays 
Still, still I linger, on your charms to gaze ! 
And am I destinM — torn from scenes like these. 
To brave the perils of the faithless seas ; 
Severely doom'd by Poverty to prove 
A sad seclusion from the friends I love ! 
Ah! think, my Theodore, my hopes how vain, 
So dire a lot with courage to sustain ! 
When thy consoling sympathy I lose, 
How sinks my heart ! How dreary are my views ! 

THEODORE. 

Why to such wayward destiny decreed, 
Why am I helpless, and oppress'd with need? 
Why to my pray'rs has Heav'n that wealth denied, 
I seek alone with Friendship to divide ? 
Ah ! what avails the hope that cheer' d my breast, 
To see my Frederick with abundance blest ; 
The hope I felt my days in peace to spend, 
Blest with the con-Terse of a virtuous friend; 
Whose firm integrity my soul rever'd, 
Whose wisdom school' d me, and whose humour 

cheer' d :— 
The hope to see superior worth esteem' d, 
And genius from obscurity redeem 'd :— 



90 

The hope to see the friend I hold most dear 
Triumphant move in Glory's bright career : 
To see him, firm in his own native land, 
Th' undaunted friend of truth and justice stand* 
All eloquently bold in Virtue's cause, 
True to the state, and faithful to the laws ; 
With zeal untir'd, and courage unsubdu'd, 
Toil to promote each source of human good ! 
Enthusiast dreams of friendship, vain as dear ! 
No more my breast such fond illusions cheer : 
I see my friend afflicted and distress'd, 
Of all good hopes and prospects dispossess'd ; 
Compell'd by dire adversity to roam, 
A wretched exile from his native home I 

FREDERICK* 

How dire a lot is left me now to mourn, 
From all my soul holds dear for ever torn 1 
Far from my Julia doom'd to pass my days, 
Oh ! what a pang that dreadful thought conveys ! 
That sad reflection sharpens ev'ry care, 
And leads me to distraction and despair. 
Too beauteous maid ! with Love's best charms pos- 

sess'd, 
With all great gifts pre-eminently bless'd ; 
Adorn'd with all that chaste desire can raise, 
And win affection, reverence, and praise ! 
Oh, mingled extasy of bliss and woe 1 
Why was I doom'd such excellence to know ? 
Why dar'd I, warin'd with elegant desire, 
With fond presumption to such charms aspire ? 
Thou miracle of loveliness and worth, 
Wit, candour, genius, gaiety, and mirth ; 



91 

Too good, too generous, too feeling maid ! 
Why was my love with sympathy repaid ? 
What claims, alas ! have I to worth like thine ? 
Let me such dear delusive hopes resign. 
Far from my Julia doom'd my life to spend, 
What sense, of anguish can my grief transcend ? 
Alas ! I better could the curse sustain, 
Dear as she is ! to feel her worst disdain, 
Than live thus honour'd with her best regard, 
Still lov'd, yet ever from her sight debarr'd. 
For me disgrac'd, to obloquy consigned, 
My Julia mourns, in solitude confin'd ; 
Despis'd, disown'd, discarded by her friends, 
On me her liberty and peace depends. 
Then since alone the woman I esteem, 
My absence now from bondage can redeem, 
This last sad proof of duty I'll exert, 
A parent's malediction to avert ; 
And thus to peace my Julia to restore, 
Live ever exil'd from my native shore. 

THEODORE. 

O, may my friend some blissful region find, 
Where Nature proves to Poverty more kind ; 
Where lust of gold no tyrant rule maintains, 
Where Learning triumphs, and where Virtue reigns ; 
Where follies, crimes, and vices are abhorr'd, 
And worth ensures pre-eminent reward. 
Be such thy lot — in comfort, peace, and health, 
Pursue some honest road to fame and wealth ; 
No more that heart to fell despair resign, 
But hope, still hope, that Julia may be thine. 



.92 



FREDERICK* 

No more, my friend, this fatal theme pursue, 
At Julia's name my wounds all bleed anew. 
On India's shores, where each fierce sun-beam shedf 
A poison *d flame that dire infection spreads ; 
Or where the Hoogley rolls his rapid wave, 
O'er banks that teem with many nation's grave-* 
May my sad relics soon in peace repose, 
Lost to all cares, and past all human woes. 
Then, Julia, fair and virtuous as thou art ! 
May'st thou some more propitious love impart? 
Then, in some happier suitor may'st thou find 
Each gift of genius, and each grace of mind ! 
May he have merit to deserve thy choice, 
And gain the fiat of a parent's voice ! 
Oh, may he know, like me, thy worth to prise^ 
Survey thy beauty with the same fond eyes ; 
As deeply feel thy excellence, and learn 
As gratefully thy passion to return ! 
Let him my love without my faults possess I 
Ah ! let not poverty like mine depress ! 
So ne'er shall sorrow's throb his breast distend, 
No sighs like these his heart with anguish rend ; 
No pangs like these his wretchedness declare, 
And fill him with distraction and despair. 
Too well these tender extasies reveal 
The frailty pride should struggle to conceal : 
Yet can I without tears a theme unfold, 
Felt with such grief, 'midst such afflictions told ? 
Ah, no ! — to mourn, to languish and complain^ 
Are now the last sad pleasures that remain ; 



OS 

While o'er such woes in exile I repine, 

May a more worthy destiny be thine ! 

May'st thou exist in peace, still free from blame, 

And win some glorious wreath of patriot fame ! 

May thy pure principles, with truth maintain'd, 

Amidst temptations, flourish still unstain'd : 

With Satire's scourge still manfully chastise 

Each vice, each crime, that Virtue should despise; 

Treat with disdain the mercenary crowd, 

Meek with the mild, but haughty with the proud : 

Still just, still feeling, still in morals pure, 

Firm, tho' dependent — generous, tho' poor; 

Ne'er at base man's ingratitude repine, 

The bliss of conscious rectitude be thine ; 

Sigh not to find the world its praise withdraws^ 

And seek no meed but virtuous self-applause. 



DIALOGUE V. 

Marcus* and Benedick. 
Why don't you marry ? 



BENEDICK. 

^J$ Man, unfriendly to the commonwealth, 
Whom Heav'n has blest in vain with youth and health ! 

* Although Mr. Marcus CTConner cannot boast the ho- 
nour of being related to any of the great families, whose 
ancestors have from age to age ennobled that illustrious 



94 

Why don't you marry ? Scorn this selfish life- 
Marcus, 'tis time to fix upon a wife : 
No more dispute a guardian's friendly views, 
But straight prepare to wed the spouse I choose, 

MARCUS. 

Since it now seems your absolute decree, 
That nolens volens married I must be, 
Let me at least possess a casting voice, 
And pray don't put me off with Hohsons choice* 

BENEDICK. 

I think you'd find no cause that choice to rue^ 
Miss Polly Hobson's good enough for you : 

name ; still he is considered, notwithstanding his obscurity 
of origin, to be the greatest Conner of the present day ; for 
there is not a truth, however evident — a proposition, how. 
ever plausible— or a doftrine, however popular, against 
which he is not at all times ready to oppose objections, pe- 
culiar to his own eccentric mode of thinking. He is the 
most unruly rebel Cupid ever had to deal with ; being a 
great traveller, he has frequently passed through many places 
ornamented with Temples to Cupid, lately erected by 
ladies renowned for taste and fancy, the most remarkable of 
which are situated at Flauntwell, YVheedlington, Simpring- 
ton, Prettylure, Fickleton, Oglewell, Slyleering, Fondle- 
sham, Coax-Heath, and Cullington 5 but Marcus never 
thought of paying a visit of curiosity, far less to go on a 
pilgrimage, to any of these Temples : his country residence 
is at Bachelors Hall j and when he comes to town, he lives 
at Miss La Home's, whose apartments are let to single gen- 
tlemen only. 



05 

She's just come home from school a finish'd girl, 

In works of taste a perfect nonpareil. 

Sir, she's her father's pride, her mother's boast ; 

But her old grandmother admires her most : 

She knows the Arts — reads Milton's verse, like prose I 

Can cut out watch-papers, or paint a rose ; 

Make card-racks, work-bags, pin-cushions, or laoe, 

Walks with an air, and curtsies with a grace ; 

Adorns her shawl with many a tasteful sprig, 

And on the harpsichord plays Corn's jig. 

MARCUS. 

This most accomplish'd paragon of taste 
Measures four feet nine inches round the waist; 
She's broad as long, and bent from top to toe, 
Looks like a ram's-horn, or a full-stretch'd bow. 
Sir, I reject this matrimonial mate, 
Did you not say that I must marry straight ! 

BENEDICK. 

An ample choice may readily be found, 
Beauties are numerous, and wits abound ; 
Rivals in turns their various charms display, 
The fair, the brown, the rich, the grave, the gay : 
You soon might choose a bride from nymphs like these, 
Was not your dainty taste too nice to please, 

MARCUS. 

Harriet's too peevish, Emily's too rude, 
Becky's a fool, and Tabitha's a prude ; 
Lucy's too bashful, Dorothy too bold, 
Charlotte too warm, and Marianne too cold ; 
In vain with Jane a match you may concert. 
By all that's sacred, I won't wed a flirt 1 



96 

BENEDICK. 

What to Lou isa can your spleen object ? 
You cannot name her charms with disrespect ?' 
Could Greece produce a beauty more complete^ 
A form more graceful, or a face more sweet ?' 

MARCUS. 

I grant she's thought a most delicious girl, 
The bucks all toast her as a first-rate belle : 
Nay, she's esteem' d a beauty without paint, ^ 
And carries in her looks the perfect saint ; 
But in her temper, what a fiend is seen ! 
Straws stir her bile up, pins provoke her spleen. 
Shall I with her in Hymen's bonds engage ? 
No — shield me, Heav'n, from such a vixen's rage} 
For had I any beauty in my face* 
Her nails would soon each skin-deep charm erase* 
To match the temper of a maid so meek, 
Go, find some poor contented cockney sneak; 
Let her espouse some rich contented fool, 
For she was born to domineer and rule. 

BENEDICK. 

Would you the wealthy to the fair prefer, 
Haurette's an heiress — what d'ye say to her ? 

MARCUS. 
Torment to torment add, heap curse on curse, 
Still by degrees increase from bad to worse. 
I wed Laurette I By all thePow'rs above, 
Compar'd to her, Louisa is a dove ! 
Mild as the gentlest lambkin of the folds ! 
'Sdeath ! she's a jade of jades, a scold of scolds ; 



97 

A more malicious spitfire of a shrew 
Never with tooth and nail to combat flew : 
All that is odious, mix'd in her I find, 
Her loathsome form is hideous as her mind ; 
Her tongue is rough and restless as the sea, 
Her mouth as large as mortal mouth can be ; 
And would she be so kind to keep it shut, 
She with her nose and chin might crack a nut; 
She with her nails is chiefly fore'd to fight, 
For thanks be to her nose she can't well bite. 
Provide some drunken cobler for her mate, 
One who will laugh to scorn her angry prate ; 
To work her cure she'll need a sturdy chap, 
Hard words, spare diet, and a good tough strap* 

BENEDICK. 

Was ever mortal man so hard to suit ! 
You scorn the wealthy and the fair to boot. 
Alicia's form, at least, is free from blame, 
*Twere sacrilege her beauty to defame. 

MARCUS. 

Of her fine form, so perfect is the make, 
That artists from such limbs might drawings take* 
Should I the beauty of her leg dispute, 
I grant each carman might my taste confute ; 
Should I the whiteness of her breast deny, 
Ten thousand grooms at once might bawl — " You lie !'* 
Sure 'twould be folly to the last degree, 
To contradict what all mankind can see ; 
For in transparent draperies array 'd, 
All unresenr'd her figure stands display'd : 



98 

A Deminude, she braves the winter's snow, 

And struts about the streets her form to show. 

To meet her in Hyde Park more coxcombs flock, 

Than e'er gap'd wide-mouth'd at St. Dunstan's clock* 

Is this the precious lot you wish to vend ? 

Is this the wife selected for your friend ? 

A nymph so destitute of decent pride, 

That o'er the public course a race she'd ride!!! 

Remorseless violate the sex's laws, 

Court the base shout of dissolute applause ; 

Contend with grooms, insensible to shame, 

And yield to foul discourse her hacknied name. 

What 1 shall the town its darling idol lose 

To meet one vile monopolizer's views ? 

Shall she, with millions of admirers blest, 

Be by one spouse exclusively possess 'd ? 

Is this the helpmate that the Fates decree 

For one so modest and recluse as me ? 

Shall I with such a gaping-stock unite, 

And lead her thro' the streets, a public sight ? 

As soon, by Heav'ns ! a keeper I would go, 

Pidcock's wild beasts at country fairs to show ; 

Ere against sense thus grossly I would sin, 

I'd wed the sign-post of the Angel Inn. 

BENEDICK. 

Georgina, sure, from scorn may pass exempt, 
You cannot treat her talents with contempt. 

MARCUS. 

Dare you propose me such a wife as this « ? 
A poor fantastic novel-reading Miss ; 



§3 

A thing with vanity's worst airs replete, 
Giddy with pride, and pale with self-conceit. 
By her all former heroines are outdone, 
Clarissa, Laura, Stella all in one. 
Shall I presume to hope for such a wife, 
Who never smote one giant in my life! 
Ere to such nymphs I dare prefer my suit, 
Let me with Grandison the palm dispute. 
Outshine Jack Hicka thrift, eclipse Tom Thumb, 
Add a new champion to Christendom : 
Or save some Maid expos' d without a smock, 
A victim to the monster of the rock. 

BENEDICK. 
Heav'n grant me patience! Marcus you're too nice, 
Harsh to excess, sarcastic to a vice : 
Each nymph I praise, with ridicule you greet, 
May Lydia hope a worthier fate to meet ? 

MARCUS. 

What terms my scorn of Lydia can describe, 
A female coxcomb of the Bond-street tribe : 
A thing, trick'd out to fashion's last excess, 
Who thinks, and speaks, and dreams of nought but 

dress : 
Alike assuming, ignorant and plain, 
Ugly, yet arrogant; deform'd, yet vain : 
She's the most empty blockhead o( her sex, 
I would not wed her to be made George Rex. 

BENEDICK. 

Miss Fanny Antoinette for wedlock sighs, 
A buxom, plump young wench with roguish eyet : 
She's right good stuff, a merry wench — no scold, 
A better wife you cannot have or hold. 



100 

MARCUS. 

Let her hold off — for have her I will not, 
Hast smelt her breath? — she tipples, she's a sot Jl 
I ne'er desire her roguish eyes to see, 
She ne'er shall play the rogue or fool with me. 
Fool as I am — I am not quite so bad, 
I am not yet, thank Heav'n, stark staring mad. 
Ere I would meanly stoop to such disgrace, 
These arms some artful sorc'ress should embrace; 
With matchless qualities of love indu'd, 
Like tigress cruel, yet like monkey lewd ; 
Who from her neck unblushingly would drag 
Her amulet steel chain, and camphor bag! 
Then to provoke the fever of desire, 
With egg-wine potions set my blood on fire; 
Coax me to bed with lust's insidious tongue, 
And for a rape next morning get me hung ! 

BENEDICK. 

Laura is chaste — on dress no thought bestows, 
Alike disdainful she to belles and beaux* 
Oft, tho' her obsolete attire provokes 
The flippant milliner's audacious jokes, 
And coxcomb haberdashers stand dismay'd, 
To see a fine girl decently array'd : 
Yet, braving ridicule, she still appears 
Rob'd in the modest garb of former years. 
To call her sloven, were perhaps unkind, 
Who slights her person, thus, to grace her mind. 
But in a looking-glass she seldom looks, 
Globes are her toilette toys, her trinkets books. 
Strange to relate ! tho' beauteous, rich, and young, 
She's deeply vers'd in many a learned tongue. 



101 

Yet has the girl some faults, in plain good truth, 
At times her manners may be dcem'd uncouth ; 
She sometimes shews a few eccentric ways, 
Acts out of rule, and deals in no set phrase ; 
Is sometimes absent when she ought to speak, 
Talks to herself out loud, and jabbers Greek ; 
Sometimes the vulgar in her style prevails, 
Her head she scratches, and she bites her nails ; 
When contradicted argues somewhat rough, 
And takes each week three cannisters of snuff. 
Such are her whims, they seem to move your mirth, 
Her faults are trivial — sterling is her worth ; 
Fair, modest, learned, gen'rous, feeling, wise- 
Marcus, you dare not such a wife despise! 

MARCUS. 

With all these virtues single she may be, 
Laura may die a wise old maid for me. 
Would* st have mewed a she-philosopher, 
A petticoated pedagogue like her ? 
To spend my days in logical disputes, 
Or tracing Roman nouns to Grecian roots? 
I might as well go back to school at once, 
As wear her foolscap, and be call'd her dunce : 
For, lo ! each time in grammar that I tript, 
i might prepare most soundly to be whipt. 
Laura of learni ng boasts too great a stock, 
So I decline her, with her Hie, H*c, Hoc. 
Find her a husband of stupendous parts, 
Some LL. D. or Bachelor of Arts ; 
Some great, scholastic, classical high-priest, 
A Smith, a Vincent, or a Parr, at least ; 



102 

For me, I swear by ail the pow'rs abov«, 

That single 1 will live, and laugh at love : 

Tho' Cupid oft attempts my breast to wound, 

Blunt from this heart of flint his shafts rebound ; 

But if again the young audacious spark 

Presumes to take m}^ bosom for his mark, 

On the wrong side his mouth the dog shall grin, 

I'll make him cry peccavi for his sin ; 

To flay the hide of Love's mischievous god, 

I've long in pickle kept a swinging rod ; 

In retribution for all past misdeeds, 

With Satire's scourge I'll flog him till he bleeds ; 

I'll break his bow in twain, his darts I'll snap, 

And send him weeping to his mother's lap. 

BENEDICK. 

Enough, thou child of Apathy ! forbear 
To rail at love, and satirize the fair ! 
No more my cause I urge— -too well I And 
The cold dislike you bear to womankind. 
May they repay your scorn, O man of gall ! 
And in return despise you, one and all : 
It stands confess'd you ever are decreed 
A sulky bachelor's lone life to lead. 
Away ! your dark unsocial plans pursue, 
To festive pleasures bid a last adieu ; 
Explore some rock, infest some silent dell, 
In some lone forest build thy hermit cell ; 
M The sex forgetting^ by the sex forgot," 
Amidst the monks of Egypt go and rot ; 
Forthwith convey far hence that face of woe, 
Go to a nunnery, Marcus — go I go ! go ! 



DIALOGUE VI. 



Laura and Sophia.* 

Why did I marry t 

11 Cave de nuptiis." 



SOPHIA. 

Hi'u did Aurora's blush so well forewarn 
The rising glories of the Spring's best morn ; 
Ne'er Flora's balmy gifts such scents exhale, 
With rival sweets to woo the love-sick gale ; 
Ne'er Heav'n's blue cloudless vault look'd more serene, 
The buds more blooming, and the leaves more green : 

* Laura, having been courted in the Temple of Gay 
Deceivers, built on Mount Perjury, in the middle of Guile* 
shire, was no sooner married, than her husband confined 
her in a Hymeneal Temple, near Misery Hall, in Rue- 
shire, a country in which no herb but rue was ever seen to 
flourish; where there are no flowers but love-lies-a-bleedingf 
and where no trees, but the pale rosemary, the sable cy- 
press, the melancholy yew, the dank osier, the deadly 
nightshade, and the weeping willow, can be made to grow. 

Sophia was absolutely courted many years in the most 
blessed Bardshire Temple ; she is to be married in ten mi- 
mites, and intends setting off with her bridegroom imme- 
diately, to spend the honey-moon at Harmony Hall, 
r 2 



104 

JNot all those charms renown'd in days of old, 
That grac'd the age of virtue, peace, and gold ; 
Not all Arcadia's boasted charms to please, 
Could match such sweets, or rival scenes like these. 
Spring's various pow 9 rs to please now seem outdone, 
Phoebus to-day outshines all former sun ; 
Fond birds, grown tame, approach in tuneful throngs, 
More rich their plumes, more exquisite their songs : 
Each object wakes new joys — all, all conspire 
To prompt affection, and excite desire ; 
Thro' all Creation's works I seem to trace 
Approving smiles, my bridal morn to grace. 
Sure Nature's best delights in union blend, 
My future bliss auspicious to portend ; 
No boding thoughts my rising hopes destroy, 
But Heav'n's best omens promise peace and joy. 

LAURA. 

Of all false hopes, and falser man beware, 
The day I married was, alas ! as fair ; 
The same bright omens then my bliss foretold, 
Birds sung, trees bloom'd, and skies were ting'd witk 

gold. 
All then was extasy, too great to last, 
Pleasure's high carnival, and Love's repast ; 
*Twas Spring's best morn — but now how chang'd my 

doom, 
To night's deep shade, and winter's endless gloom ! 
No transient rays of hope my sadness cheer, 
All still keeps dark and uniformly drear. 
In vain I struggle to forget my woe, 
Down my pale cheeks unconscious tears still flow ; 



10.) 

I rue my love, my tenderness repent, 

And loudly thus my griefs indignant vent : 

Why did 1 trust th' insidious traitor's smile? 

Why did I fondly listen to his guile ? 

Why were his sordid arts so well disguis'd ? 

Why did I marry, thus to be despis'd ? 

Why with enthusiast dreams of bliss possess'd ? 

Why did I marry, thus to be oppress'd ? 

Is there, compell'd to groan thro* loathsome life, 

A thins: so wretched as that slave a wife ? 

Less dire the lot of captives, who sustain 

The mine's drear labour, or the pirate's chain. 

Ah ! to my bonds such fetters would be bliss, 

Why did I marry such a fiend as this ? 

Fir'd by new wrongs, and urg'd to wild despair, 

Still to my friends I breathe these tales of care ; 

Fruitless to them my wretchedness appears, 

They treat with ridicule my sighs and tears : 

M Why breathe these vain complaints i" with scorn 

they cry ; 
Why did I marry ? — is my sad reply. 
From night to morn my wrongs I still proclaim, 
Why did I marry ? — madly I exclaim. 
In Woe's wild dreams, and Grief's calm reveries, 
Still, still I utter vain complaints like these. 
O ! may these plaints from misery redeem 
The faithful friend I tenderly esteem : 
Lur'd by false hopes of visionary bliss, 
She rashly flies to Ruin's worst abyss. 
O ! pause, ere yet the fatal die is cast, 
And the fell promise of obedience past : 
Forbear, with solemn pomp, at Hymen's shrine, 
All earthly hopes of comfort to resign ; 

F $ 



106 

Nof thus youth's freedom, peace, and joy forego, 
To purchase bondage, tyranny, and woe : 
Abjure these fatal rites, ere yet too late, 
Be school'd, Ibe warned by my unworthy fate. 

SOPHIA. 

Enthusiast mourner, O ! these strains forbear. 
My soul grows sick to hear these songs of Care : 
Ah ! breathe not thus Grief's inauspicious lay, 
To cloud the dawn of Pleasure's orient day. 
Devoted victim of ill-fated love, 
Dire are, alas ! the miseries you prove ; 
True you have cause your suff' rings to bewail, 
A cause too just at treach'rous man to rail : 
But think how happily revers'd my doom, 
1 feel no dark mistrust, no inward gloom; 
My hopes run high, my gladness grows extreme, 
My heart speaks peace, and joy shall be my theme ! 
All good coincidents my bliss conspire, 
My friends approve the man of my desire : 
Ah ! who can fail such merit to revere, 
In him all noble qualities appear; 
In him all moral excellencies blend, 
An ardent lover, and a faithful friend : 
Profoundly learn'd, yet gracefully polite, 
Scholar and gentleman in him unite ; 
No self-sufficient coxcomb, weakly vain, 
No needy wretch, allur'd by hopes of gain ; 
A man of sound good sense and sterling worth, 
In age my equal, as in wealth and birth. 
No conquest mine, atchiev'd with magic pow'r, 
No first-sight love, the triumph of an hoar ; 



107 

No passion mine, that reason can upbtaid, 

No hasty match, on slight acquaintance made ; 

No transient whim, or visionary dream, 

Hut love that grows t'rom well-matur'd esteem ; 

Ours the true kindred unison of mind, 

That springs from sympathy the most refin'd : 

With correspondent views and tempers blest, 

We seem two persons with one fouI possessed ; 

Our features, manners, talents still the same, 

Alike in all things, but a different name ; 

And, O, transporting thought ! O, bliss divine ! 

That name, so dear, so lov'd, shall soon be mine ! 

LAURA. 

Go, thou devoted prey to trcach'rous man ! 
Mvi'-ry — turn slave — be happy, if you can. 
Alas ! 'tis more than weakness to advise, 
While Cupid's veil thus blinds poor Reason's eyes. 
Deluded victim ! haste to Hymen's shrine, 
And four fleet weeks of rapture shall be thine : 
Nay. tho: fond bridegroom, for a term like this, 
Shall seem the true partaker of thy bliss. 
Man, for a month, one object may pursue — 
Yes, can be pleas'd, be kind, and constant too ; 
But when this am'rous fervour shall subside, • 
And in the name of wife you sink the bride — 
V\ hen sated passion, like a pamper'd beast, 
Retires replete from Luxury's rich feast, 
Mark of his short-liv'd flame the fading fires ; 
Then judge with care this lord of your desires ; 
When all restraint the libertine defies, 
And man, the tyrant, throws off all disguise, 
J 4 



108 

With what profound address, and matchless art, 

My specious lord perform 'd the suitor's part ! 

In Love's dark wiles so wickedly complete, 

So eminent a master of deceit, 

Ovid, to him compar'd, appears a fool, 

And scarce would rank a pupil in his school : 

How well can he assume the bashful swain ! 

How well his simple modest manners feign ! 

With what expressive moving suppliance kneel, 

And pour forth griefs he knows not how to f^d I 

A true adept in all insidious ways, 

Each soft emotion tenderly to raise, 

To pity thus he first my breast inclin'd, 

Then won to love my unsuspicious mind. 

How well he knows at pleasure to excite 

The finest springs of secret self-delight ! 

Coarse adulation, vulgarly misplac'd, 

Disgusts sound sense, and nauseates good taste ; 

If grossly mix'd, we scorn the draught to sip, 

And dash the cup indignant from our lip : 

But his fell flatt'ry comes too well disguis'd, 

Too palatably nice to be despis'd ; 

And mix'd with art so delicately fine, 

That none the subtile poison can decline : 

Thus e'er the fatal venom we suspect, 

Deep in the heart it works its full effect. 

Consummate wretch ! how vers'd in pow'rs to harm 1 

How eminently qualified to charm ! 

How deeply practised in each pow'rful lure, 

That to Seduction's plans success insure ! 

Tho' deeply labour' d is each studied part, 

And all his ways the cold result of art, 



109 

His knowledge seems so free from vain parade, 
His wit so unaffectedly display'd, 
That each bright gift sure commendation draws, 
While modestly it seems to shun applause. 
Not to these higher means to please confin'd, 
With lesser arts he fascinates the mind ; 
Endless his ways to soothe, to win, to please, 
By slow sure means, and nameless fine degrees. 
SkilFd in the well-tim'd use of tears and sighs, 
And sile-nt homage of expressive eyes, 
That when by company from speech debarred 
Beam the soft interchange of true regard : 
What aids from rhet'ric need such lovers seek, 
Whose looks whole volumes of affection speak ; 
Whose smiles and glances with such force display 
Feeling too fine for language to convey ? 
Ah ! mutely thus to plead the lover's suit 
None with Lothario can the palm dispute ; 
His those fine manners that at once unite 
All that is tender, graceful, and polite ; 
His complaisance abounds with such respect, 
No prude can his civilities reject ; 
His that endearing elegance of phrase, 
Those fond, familiar, fascinating ways ; 
Those little nothings that so much express, 
Those close attentions that such charms possess ; 
With all those nice regards and marks of care, 
So grateful and congenial to the fair. 
Trivial such deeds to vulgar minds appear, 
But, ah ! to lovers how supremely dear ! 
These in th' enamour'd maid's fond breast excite 
Unutterable feelings of delight ; 
s5 



110 

For of the man thus tenderly ador'd 
Each look, each word new extasies afford ; 
Till all o'erpow'r'd the victim dies away, 
And falls to treach'rous man a certain prey. 
By all such winning arts obsequious woo'd— • 
By such a splendid hypocrite pursu'd, 
I lov'd to madness, lost all self-command, 
And to the villain gave this wretched hand. 
With that sad gift I formally resign* d 
My fortune, liberty, and peace of mind ; 
To be that thing so wretched, so abhorr'd, 
The wedded slave of an imperious lord. 
Too soon, alas! I found myself betray'd, 
His cloven foot at once the fiend display'd ; 
From his false face the smiling mask withdrew, 
And show'd of his base heart the. native hue : 
The man so polish'd, courteous, and refin'd— . 
The lover once so tender, fond, and kind — 
Soon prov'd a ruffian, dead to all remorse, 
Malignant, cruel, arrogant, and coarse ; 
A boist'rous railler, vulgarly obscene, 
Vindictive, choleric, and full ot spleen ; 
A wretch at once with each low vice possessed, 
A boasted atheist, and a rake profess'd ; 
Who to his selfish passions gave full rein. 
And practis'd wickedness with might and main; 
Who tunr'd the greatest debauchee in town, 
Then prov'd a duellist of high renown ; 
A lyar, drunkard, glutton, most complete, 
A high-bred gamester, andafinish'd cheat. 
Too well 1 know his frauds ; for, ah ! to me 
He prov'd a swindler of the first degree ; 



Ill 

So pure I deem'd his love, bis truth so tried, 

So firmly on his justice I relied, 

That in his sole and unrestricted pow'r 

With gen'rous confidence I plac'd my dow'r : 

For him I thought the world a gift too small, 

And thus with liberal fondness gave up all. 

Above disguise, his sordid ends obtain'd, 

I found myself deserted and disdain* 9 d ; 

My person loath'd, my profT'er'd fondness spuru'd, 

And all my love with deep disgust return'd : 

My wealth he lavished with such base excess, 

As sunk me soon from affluence to distress. 

Ah ! to what pinching wants and shifts inur'd ! 

What scenes of wretchedness have I endur'd ! 

My costly gems, my trinkets, plate, and gold, 

With all my pictures, have been seiz'd and sold : 

Kay, e'en my last estate is now transferr'd, 

To pay the debts his villainy incurr'd ! 

But, Oh ! i have a wrong more sad than this, 

Compared to which all other woes seem bliss—— 

A wrong too dire to name J Thou fiend most fell ! 

What words thy matchless infamy can tell ? 

Know, thou despiser of all human laws ! 

Heav'n's awful Judge now tries an infant's cause : 

If gui:t can write confession on that cheek, 

Say, where' s my babe ? — Thou ruthless murd'rer, 

speak ' 
For one short month, unutterably blest ! 
I clasp'd a beaureous infant to my breast ; 
But soon with pangs of infinite disgrace 
J ga^'d wifh grief on his distemper ' d face : 
A mother's ljve revolted at her child ! 
Far from the scene of death 1 rush'd out wild* 
J 6 



112 

My blood runs chill— mute horror checks the tale— • 

And o'er the dreadful subject casts a veil ! 

Ah ! think how sad a destiny is mine, 

Can I forbear to murmur and repine ? 

Of such a fiend am I the lawful prey ! 

Such have I sworn to honour and obey ! 

SOPHIA. 

Cherish a wretch, thus loaded with disgrace ! 
Obey a despot, thus supremely base ! 
Honour a fiend whose guilt dissolves all ties— 
Whom all good feelings teach you to despise ! 
You share his crimes — may Heav'n the sin forgive ! \ 
With such a fiend I'd scorn one hour to live ! 

LOUISA. 

Mark of our marriage vows th' attendant curse— 
I took this wretch for better and for worse. 
This fiend we now with such disgust survey 
Appear'd an angel on my bridal day, 
The truest swain on which the sun e'er shone, 
A being pure and spotless as your own — 
That dear, enchanting, fond, expecting youth, 
Who waits to take thy vows of love and truth ; 
To whom ere long, in bonds of union join'd, 
That lovely victim form shall be resign 'd. 
Dear, artless, tender, unsuspecting fair, 
Like me consign'd to sorrow and despair ; 
In sackcloth doom'd your rashness to repent, 
u Ere yet a month — a little month" is spent; 
That voice, attun'd to love and Hymen's praise 
Shall sadly chaunt Grief's inauspicious lays. 
Ev'n now, methinks, responsive to my strain. 
I hear my friend thus tenderly complain ; 



113 

Why did I marry — why for woes like these 

Renounce all hopes of happiness and ease? 

Why pledge those vows that ne'er can be recall'd, 

Why did 1 marry to be thus enthrall'd ? 

*Tis vain to weep, repentance comes too late, 

Irrevocably wretched is my fate; 

For now, alas ! I am a wife, a slave, 

And all my hopes are center'd in the grave." 



DIALOGUE VII. 

Villy Vatkins and Mr. Ftjbbs.* 
" Deuce take my Spouse " 

n Comua Fronte Gerens." 

" Je fus force par mon destin 

" De reconnoitre Cocuage, 

" Pour un des Dieux du mariage." 



FUBBS. 

vV hat sudden fit of spleen thus strikes you dumb, 
What makes you look so sheepish, why so glum ? 
Has Fortune play'd you some mischievous prank, 
Is your long look'd-for prize, just drawn a blank? 

* Mr. Vatkins's Temple to Cupid is to be seen at Hack- 
ney : it is built in the form of a Cockney Summer- House. 
His Hymental Temple is situated in Wittol- Street, near 
Vapping. He was first introduced to Mrs. Vatkins's ac- 
quaintance at Horn-Fair. 



114 

Have you at auction bought a lot too dear, 

Has Hops the Brewer sold you sour small beer? 

Has some rich friend forgot you in his will, 

Has Doctor Drench sent in his swinging bill ? 

Has some rogue forg'd your name, or have you got 

A bloody challenge from some first-rate shot ? 

Hast been defam 'd, affronted, horse-whipp'd, kick'd, 

Cheated at cards, or had your pocket pick'd i 

Say, to some vestry-dinner hast thou been, 

And found the ven'son flabby, sweet, and lean ? 

Some bailiff, writ in hand, your back has tapp'd, 

Some girl you strove to kiss, yuur face has slapp'd ? 

Or has some next door neighbour's half-starv'd cats 

Eat all your pretty gold and silver sprats ? 

Hast lost some pet? — a dormouse, a macaw, 

A dog, a monkey, or a suit at law ? 

Something goes wrong; I'll swear, you seem perplex'd, 

Come tell me, neighbour, why you look so vex'd — 

Is my dear godson, master Jacky, dead, 

Or does your charming Spouse lie sick in bed ? 

VATKINS. 

Deuce take my Spouse ! — I seems perplex'd, God vot 5 
Looks glum too ! — legs, I vonders vho vould not ! 
You far more crosser and more wex'd vould be, 
If you vas curs'd vith such a vife as me. 

FUBBS. 

Deuce t ike your Spouse ! what sudden change is this ? 
Art mad, or drunk, or have I heard amiss ? 
Dare you, regardless of the marriage vows, 
Thus to the Deuce bequeath your loving Spouse ? 



116 



VATKINS. 

My loving Spouse!— my curse, my plague you mean, 
\Sdeath, Mr. Fubbs, my vife's an arrant quean ; 
She's the most spiteful shrew that ever shrove, 
I vish she vas at Jericho, by Jove ! 

FUBBS. 

I'm all surprise! — I thought her kind, fond, mild, 
And inoffensive as a new-born child. 

VATKINS. 

She mild ! she like a child! — a volf, a shark, 
A full-^rown Devil comes more near the mark ! 
She's the most bitter vasp that ever stung, 
Snakes have no wenom like her poison tongue. 

FUBBS. 

How by appearance men may be deceiv'd, 
How little fame deserves to be believ'd ? 
Fame says your honey-moon is not yet spent, 
Reputes your face the picture of content; 
And writes you down with her erroneous pen. 
Fondest of husbands, happiest of men. 

VATKINS. 

Talk not of honey-moons — O ! name too dear, 
Vould I could reckon twelve in ev'ry year : 
Vould vives vere always brides, and < T ould that ve, 
From year to year, dear Fubbs, could .bridegrooms be. 

FUBBS. 

Dear are the pleasures of the honey-mom, 
None who has tasted, can forget them soon. 



US 

VATKINS. 

That month's veil christen'd, then 'tis honey all, 
Ah! then a husband never finds no gall; 
But ven our brides sets vives, they soon grows gruff, 
And then, ecod, ve soon gets gall enough. 

FUEBS. 

I can't complain, 'tis true I meet some rubs, 
Yet I can rough it out with Mrs. Fubbs. 
We each have whims, and both at times may scold, 
And oft by fits and starts, are fond and cold. 
Sometimes we toy and smile, then snarl and sneer, 
'Tis sometimes Jack, and Jane, my love, my dear ; 
But when we tiff, less fondly we confer* 
And come to simple madam, and plain sir. 
Sometimes in anger we sit down to sup, 
Then go to bed, and kiss and make it up. 
Most wedded pairs have skirmishes like this, 
Without alloy, we can't expect our bliss, 
But say, what secret wretchedness is thine, 
What cause hast thou at wedlock to repine ? 

TATKINS. 

Vat cause I has to pine, you vants to know, 
And vish to veigh my matrimonial voe. 
My griefs are all unmix'd, I tastes no joy, 
My misery's all pure vithout alloy. 
O! Mr. Fubbs, if you'd a vife like mine, 
You'd find full cause at vedlock to repine. 
Such rubs as ours, I thoroughly abhor, 
Our skirmishes, prove terrible hot var. 
I can't endure such hoity-toity vays, 
I'm sick of rubs and tiffs, and freaks, and frays. 



117 

Vould I to please my taste had prov'd less nice, 

Nor scorn 'd my good hold huncle Bluff's adwice : 

I then had let this pretty shrew go by, 

And marry'd Miss Bet Black vith vone blear heye. 

Says huncle, " If you marries von-hey'd Bett, 

4i To the blind side of her you soon may get. 

" 'Tis true, she's got no rosy cheeks to boast, 

u She's crooked, lame, and deafer than a post, 

" But then, you rogue, she's vorth a good round sum, 

" And vat's still best of hall, she's almost dumb. 

'* For being troubled vith a cancer'd cheek, 

-< Old Doctor Mum von't let the poor girl speak," 

Vould I had marry'd her — she lost her tongue, 

Left a large fortune, Sir, and died quite young. 

Vereas my shrew may live, as Pine* foretold, 

At fourscore years and ten to play the scold. 

If the cross vasp gets vorse and vorse so fast, 

My stock of patience von't much longer last, 

I rues my bargain, Suke and I must part, 

Fegs, if ve don't, she'll break my head or heart. 

Vere ve now lodge 1 vont no longer stay, 

Because the chimbly smokes the live-long day. 

Of this vone plague, perhaps, I could make light, 

But Mrs. Vatkins scolds from morn till night. 

A smoky house and scolding vife, foregad, 

Vould drive old Job himself red roaring mad : 

To bear the first, I vouMn't feel so loth, 

But Mr. Fubbs, by gosh I von't stand both. 



* A celebrated soothsayer, whom Mr. Vatkins once con- 
sulted as touching ihe probable duration of his misfortunes. 



118 

FUBBS. 

Great are your troubles, I must needs confess., 
And it behoves you soon to make them less. 
Adopt my council, let my plan be try'd, 
With Mrs, Watkins thus your house divide : 
Take the inside yourself., give her the out, 
Quick send her packing to the right-about. 
Thus let your weight of sorrows be decreas'd, 
Of two great evils, Sir, select the least ; 
Or quit both house and wife — both torments shun, 
And of two ills (as Paddy says) choose no)ie* 

VATKINS. 

I turn her out of doors ! Ecod ! not I ; 
I'm not quite mad enough that prank to try: 
Suke vou'd soon let me know vhose house it vas, 
I shou'd get kick'd down stairs myself — that's poz. 
Ven I man's right of government disputes, 
She swears all husbands are a set of brutes ; 
Then calls me cockney, nincompoop, or fool, 
And wows in her own house the roast she'll rule. 
She rules the roast so veil, my food gets spoil'd, 
She roasts the rabbits ven I vants 'em boil'd ; 
Yet 'tis in wain for me " Dear vife," to say* 
M Smother'd with inions is the nicest vay :" 
Puddings, to stuff their bellies, she prepares, 
Altho' I tells her rabbits are not hares. 
She bakes the legs of mutton, she's so cross, 
Altho' I loves 'em boil'd, vith caper-sauce. 
To comfort and to nurse me, she's so loth, 
That ven I'm sick she never -makas no broth : 



119 

To please lier vims she roasts the mutton scrags ; 
And vonce she stew'd a voodcock all to rags. 
Sometimes I vants a meal to my own vish, 
And craves indulgence for a fav'rite dish : 

I honly hax*d her vonce to ave roast weal, 

II No, Sir," said she, " you'll dine ofTspitchcock'd eel." 
These kick-shaw cag-mag stews and frigasees 

Vith my plain stomach alvays disagrees ; 

She takes me for Mounseer, 'tis my belief, 

Tho' I'm an Englishman, and loves roast beef. 

She's alvays studying how to wex me most, 

The things I loves best boil'd, she's sure to roast, 

And wice wersa 9 ven I vants roast meat, 

She from pure spite von't give me none to eat. 

Ven I comes home quite tir'd, and vants a nap, 

She makes me take the hinfant on my lap ; 

Five thousand times a day I vipes his nose, 

But the young sniv'ling velp spoils all my cloaths. 

Ah ! vat awails my grumblings and my glouts— 

Ven I'm desir'd to shift his nasty clouts, 

I'd fain refuse, but can't, vithout the dread 

Of having clouts bestow'd on my own head. 

Vhen she lays in, I alvays finds her vorst, 

By none but me she chuses to be nurs'd ; 

From night to morn she then my peace annoys, 

She brawls and squalls, and makes the devil's own noise ; 

Says I'm the cruel cause of all her pain, 

But wows and swears I never shall a^ain. 

Twelve times renew 'd these promises I've heard. 

But vat of that ? - she alvays breaks her vord. 

At first I thought her serious, forsooth ! 

But soon I found she don't much stick to truth ; 



120 

Yet ven such rudeness I the least expect, 
Plump in my teeth she sends the lie direct ; 
Sometimes in company I'm sarv'd the same, 
Get laugh'd at, ridicul'd, and turn'd to game ; 
She criticises ev'ry think I says, * 

And makes the children mimick all my vays. 
5 Tis no strange thing for breeding dames to long, 
Their likings and their fancies then grows strong ; 
Some vents scarce birds, and some expensive fruits, 
Some costly plants, or waluable roots. 
Some soot, some chalk, some brick-dust longs to eat, 
Some mouncbe red herrings, some dewour raw meat. 
Some vomen drinks train-hoil, I'm told, and some, 
Terrible sights of vhiskey, gin, or rum. 

FUBBS. 
I've witnessM whims like these, as well as you, 
My wife, like other dames, has longings too ; 
And, I from sundry marks my babes to save, 
Have not yet left poor spouse in vain to crave : 
Yet hope she'll long no more in times to come, 
For, faith I such maggots cost a good round sum. 
Once she requested she might have a peach, 
And eat three dozen at a guinea each ; 
Once long'd for plumbs that cost their weight in gold, 
And pease, when for five crowns each peck was sold. 

VATKINS. 

These tricks are bad enough ; but, odds my life ! 
Your spouse ne'er match 'd the longings of my vife ; 
She longs for things not only scarce and dear, 
But plaguy vimsical, and deuced queer : 
Sometimes she only longs to pull my nose, 
Sometimes to tear my books, or burn my cloaths ; 



To smash a looking-glass, or break a pan : 

Sometimes she only longs to hact the man ; 

She vcars my breeches, bids me vear her gown, 

And if I von't consent, she knocks me down. 

Vonce, all amazement, open-mouth'd I star'd, 

Vhile in these words, her vishes she declar'd : 

44 Villy," eaysshe, " d'ye know, my dear, last night, 

44 I voke, and almost wounded in a fright ; 

44 I dreamt (and of this dream my head's still full), 

44 I dreamt I saw you turn'd into a bull ; 

44 I saw two long horns sprouting from your head, 

44 And heard you moo so loud it shook the bed. 

44 Now, my dear Villy, pray to market hie, 

44 And of old Butcher Chops, two bull's horns buy : 

44 Be sure to choose the largest you can get, 

44 I longs to see them on your forehead set. 

44 I'll bring the glue^pot from the kitchen-shelf, 

44 Because I means to fix them on myself ; 

46 And ven, my dear, you're properly dress'd up, 

44 I off a roasted cuckoo ?neans to sup ; 

a 'Tis better, sure, with horns your brows to grace, 

44 Than have a baby born with a bull's face : 

44 I longs to see your horns, and hear your moos— 

44 So, pray, consent — I die if you refuse." 

FUBBS. 

What ! long to make you cuckold ! By my soul ! 
I needs must say that whim was monstrous droll ! 
But say, of love and kindness thus brim-full, 
Did you, my friend, consent to play the bull ? 

VATKINS. 

Did I consent ! Vy, how could I deny ? 
I dident vish to let my poor spouse die ! 



122 

Tho*, fegs ! to own the truth, she's grown to bad, 

That fifty times since then l'vevish'd I had„ 

Do vat I choose, it seems her study still, 

To hact in hopposition to my vill : 

If I intends to go to Sadler's Veils, 

Then she to Hashley's takes the boys and girls ; 

If I desires to go to Drury-lane, 

Then counter to my vish she runs again ; 

I'm loaded first vith torrents of abuse, 

Then like a gander dragg'dto Mother Goose : 

Tho' I've en^a^'d a box above a veek, 

GO ' 

To see Jack Bannister play Jerry Sneak* 

Ve vent out valking vonce~— my vife grew tir'd, 

So near Rag- Fair a hackney coach I hir'd : 

Soon as the children all vere safely coach* d, 

To help her in politely I approach 'd ; 

She wow'd she voudn't ride — then valk'd avay, 

And I vas forc'd the coachman's fare to pay. 

By vater then she said she'd go to town, 

And sent me for a boat to Horsleydown ; 

Ven I return' d to say a boat vas got, 

I saw her in a coach drive off full trot ; 

As she rode past, she cried, " My dear, you find 

" I goes by land, because I've chang'd my mind ; 

" But you've no call the carriage to pursue, 

" You must valk home, ve've got no room for you !" 

So as the vaterman his fare I paid 

I curs' d this dear vife for a jilting jade ; 

Vish'd she vas married to the Pope of Rome, 

And sulky by myself on foot trudg'd home. 

Ven I arriv'd Pfound my children there, 

But, fegs ! no vife — she drove the Lord knows vherc ! 



123 

Vith many of her friends I've nought to d*, 
She wisitsvcn she likes, and God knows who. 
She alvays makes me dress vatvay she likes, 
According to vat vims her fancy strikes : 
'Twas most genteel, she said, a vig to vear, 
So forc'd me to cut off my long red hair. 
In all my life I never seedher match, 
She obligated me to buy this scratch ; 
Tho* my high forehead vas my greatest boast, 
And my own hair vas vat becotnd me most. 
I vares green spectacles, a good disguise ! 
On purpose to conceal my squinting heyes ; 
But spitefully, my failings to expose, 
Sometimes at church she vips 'em off my nose- 
She makes me vear vite coats, instead of black, 
To magnify the hump upon my back : 
She makes me leave off pantaloons and boots, 
Because no dress so veil my figure suits ; 
And ev'n at Christmas, tho' it rains and snows, 
Makes me parade the streets invite silk hose ; 
Because she knows I've got such knock knee'd legs, 
And bumps on both my shins as big as eggs. 
In vinter first to bed she makes me go ; 
Butven I gets into a charming glow, 
She shoves me out., and takes my nice varm place, 
And if I grumbles at it, slaps my face. 
If she but hears the gnawing of a mouse, 
Some man, she swears, has broke into the house; 
She kicks my shins, pulls off the bed-cloaths, scream*, 
Shakes me, and vakes me from the soundest dreams ; 
Up from my nice varm bed she makes me leap, 
To see vat housebreakers disturbs her sleep. 



124 

Naked and shiv'ring then my vife 1 leaves, 
And in the cupboards hunts for rogues and tmeves : 
Ven I comes back she never fails to scold, 
And curses me, because J feels so cold. 
Ven my poor children I desires to kiss, 
I'm often stopp'd, because they've done amiss : 
M Let Polly have this cake, my dear," I cries, 
** Sir, you shan't spoil my children," she replies. 
She forces me the babes to scold and snob, 
And ven they're to be beat, I gets that job : 
Oft ven I meant to give them toys or plums, 
I'm forc'd to vip their poor dear little bums. 

FUBBS. 
Tho* I'm concern'd to find your wife so base, 
And listen with compassion to your case ; 
Tho' I such aggravating tricks revile, 
By all that's droll 1 I can't forbear to smile : 
She plays chief cook, I find, and forces you, 
Thus, scullion-like, her dirty work to do. 

VATKINS. 

At others voes, some folks delights to grin ; 
1 says, for my part, let them laugh that vin. 

FUBBS. 

Think not, O sufF'ring friend ! this heart so hard, 
To treat your grief with cruel disregard : 
Think not your woes my grins and smiles provoke * T 
Your wrongs are serious — faith ! your wife's no joke e 

VATKINS. 

No joke, indeed, friend Fubbs, unless the pest, 
Desarves to be considered as a jest. 



12;> 

A murrain seize her (i speedily and soon ffl 

Hear how she treated me this afternoon : 

u Villy," says she, last night, " \ feck & vish 

u To go to Vilkisson's, and eat fresh fish ; 

n In short, my dear, the party's quite made up— 

u Ve dines at Gtrinidge, and comes home to sup. 

u I'll let you know vat friends I means to meet — 

" There's Vidow Lane, Miss House, and Mr. Street ; 

" Young Mr. Field, Miss Grove, and Master Park, 

u Miss Pain, Miss Joy, Miss Bright, and Mr. Dark, 

" Old Mother Scarlet, Mr. Brown, Miss Rose, 

" All the young Harts, and all the little Does, 

" Miss Jenny Ricketts, Mr. Slight, Miss Strong, 

" Miss 'Fhynne, Miss Thicknesse, Mr. Snort, Miss 

Long, 
" Old Brook, Young Ford, Miss Hide, cross Mrs. Hunt, 
" Counsellor Sharp, and surly Old Squire Blunt ; 
u Fat Mr. Dabbs, the beautiful Miss Tibbs, 
* c Jack Hance, Tom Ranee, George Vance, and their 

three ribs ; 
" Dick Styles, Joe Giles, Bob Dobbs, and Mr. Hobbs, 
" The two Miss Babses, and the three Miss Squabs. 
■_' Ve'll make a jovial party — do things snug, 
11 And hire a wessel from your friend Tom Tug : 
" Ve all loves boat-sailing, and means to go, 
" Rain, hail, or shine, my dear — blow high, blow 

low!" 
u My love, says I, you knoxvs I likes a sail, 
" If the day's fine — but not in rain or hail : 
" I alvays choose smooth vater for a jaunt, 
" Like Mrs. Phips, your godmother, my aunt." 
" Odsbodlikins !" quoth she, " you silly man ! 
« Ve've fix'd the day, and you shan't mar our plan," 

G 



126 



8 Veil, veil, my dear," said I, " I yields— -agreed ; 
6 Rain, hail, or shine, to Grinidge ve'll proceed. 
6 Jacky shall go vith us, he loves his pap, 
6 If ve're much scroug'd I'll take him on my lap ; 

* He shall put on his bran-new scarlet coat, 
6 You know he's all agog to go afloat. 

1 Let me prowide — I knows vat I'm about ; 

c I'll furnish pipes, tobacco, and brown stout : 

6 You'll take some cherry-bounce, of course, my dear, 

6 Because as how you never drinks no deer ; 

6 And get some cordials for the ladies, pray, 

* For fear they all fall sea-sick by the vay. 

6 If 3-0U 'cants sports, I'll suit you in a trice, 

6 Ve'll take t-totums, draftboards, cards, and dice; 

6 And as the wessel on the vater sails, 

* Ve'll eat, drink, smoke, laugh, joke, and tell droll 

tales : 
« You'll take your harp — I'll bring my fishing-rod, 
6 And vile you sings and plays, I'll fish for cod." 
Veil, Sir, to end my tale to sea ve vent, 
All in high glee, and on good-humour bent. 
So things vent off quite smooth till dinner came, 
And at the table's top they seats my dame : 
That place but ill becomes my clumsy vife, 
She's thevorst carver that e'er took up knife. 
My vis ' at vat a size she mawl'd the fish ! 
She bent the slice, and vacfc she broke the dish ; 
She gash'd the meat at such a clumsy size 
As made each slice disgustful to all eyes. 
Now, my first cousin, Mr. Tug, is vone 
That hates all kinds of wictuals underdone : 
She knew that fast enough, yet cramm'd his plate 
Vith a raw lump of mutton two pounds veight. 



127 

Tom bids the vaiter take it to the deuce, 
And axes for the sidesman of a goose. 
By jingo, Sir ! this gave her vork enough, 
Blunt vas the knife, the goose vas old and tough : 
First for the joints she felt ; but tir'd at length, 
At it she vent ding-dong, by sheer main strength ; 
Slap thro' the bone, the knife vith rage she crash 'd, 
And all vith gravy Tug's vite vaistcoat splash'd. 
Now, Tom's a vag — and so says he to hi, 
M Pray, larn yourvife to carve, she can't row dry." 
Oho! thinks I — ve'll have fine doings now, 
I alvays knows ven I shall have a row; 
For, like a dog that snarls, her teeth she shows, 
Quivers her lips, and curls her cock'd-up nose. 
Bounce from her chair she sprung — to mine she came, 
And as she spoke, her eyes began to flame : 
" D'ye think," says she, " you scoundrel ! I'll submit 
" That vatermen on me shall show their vit ? 
" I'll let you know I'm none of them there folks 
•' To bear your cockney-cousin's wulgar jokes 1" 
In wain I strove to pacify her hire- 
She took my vig, and toss'd it in the fire : 
Then seizing by the tail a hot fried plaice, 
She sent it right slap-dash into my face. 
The hot grease bung'd both eyes, and burnt ray cheeks, 
I dances round the room, I squalls, 1 squeaks. 
Vith that the company began to roar, 
" At him again !" they said— " veil done ! hancore /" 
Then cry 'd, " Hark to her !" clapp'd me on the back, 
And laugh'd till all their sides vere fit to crack. 
Vith that I snatches up hat, vig, and stick, 
And vishing all these new friends at Oid Nick, 
g 2 



128 

I never says good-by, but valks avay, 

And leaves my vife the reckoning to defray. 

Now, I begs leave to or, my good friend Fubbs, 

How you could bear my matrimonial rubs ? 

You thought me frumpish, glum, and, fegs ! mayhap, 

A surly, suiky, discontented chap ; 

But I'raa man of peace — I hates all rows, 

And that's vat makes me say — Deuce take my spouse ! - 



DIALOGUE VIII. 

Felix and Eugenius.* 

God bless my Wife. 
st Such are the joys of virtuous love!" 



EUGENIUS. 

Say, shall a ghost, restricted to the right 
Of rising from his grave to walk ail night. 
Thus his terrific privilege extend, 
At broad noon-day, to scare a timid friend ? 

* Who would not get drunk, die in a ditch, and come to 
life again in a bone- house, to participate the blesst-d lot of 
Mr. Felix, who, in this Julia of Julias, has got a spouse of 
spouses, a wife of wives; his Hymeneal residence is also 
the very Temple of Temples, that was built on Mount Pa- 
radise, by that husband of husbands, Lord Lytrieton, a 
man of ble:sed, happy, affectionate, and most immortal me- 
mory. 



129 

Spirit avaunt ! — I exorcise thee — go ! 
Descend this instant to the realms below ! 
Wait till the witching time of night — begone ! 
'Til time enough to rise " when church-yards yawn.'* 
Why com'st thou here with fright to blanch my check ? 
Who's robb'd ? — who's poison'd ? — what's thy busi- 
ness ? -- speak ! 
Has Weeping Billy, like Othello Moor, 

Strangled, in jealous rage, some wretched w ? 

If so, good ghost, the ruffian's guilt unveil, 
And to the murder-monger tell thy tale ; 
But if he's blameless, quick, some proof produce, 
And round the right neck slip the hangman's noose. 
Perchance, some trav'ller, murder' d in a cave, 
Obscurely moulders in an unbless'd grave : 
If the degraded carcass feels too proud 
To rot sans coffin, winding-sheet, or shroud, 
Let him to undertakers state his case, 
Or to Lord Er — k — e show his piteous face ; 
Who in obsequial pomp so much delights, 
That to his goose he gave sepulchral rites !!! 
The plaintiff ghost shall be redress'd when heard, 
And have his bones more decent!?/ interred: 
But charge not me with embassies so sad, 
While happier jobs may readily be had. 
All tales of horror from these ears conceal, 
Ghosts, if they choose, good tidings may reveal ; 
And oft to men have complaisautly told 
Behind what stone a miser hides his o- ld. 
Show me some picture that conceals a nitch, 
YV here I can find a will to make me rich ; 
Or, if such secrets spirits can de- i^e, 
Predict the number of a good fac prize, 
G 3 



130 

Fain would I learn, bold shade, what urgent cause 
Impels thee thus to break all ghostly laws ? 
Why thus by day-light haunt me in the Park, 
Could not thy visit be delay'd till dark ? 
Thou'rt the first ghost,. I'll venture to declare, 
That ever in this Mall snuff 'd noon- tide air : 
Methought a ghost was always lank and slim- 
All pale and mealy, grizzly, gaunt, and grim ; 
But thou'rt improv'd in looks, and high in flesh, 
Airy thouseem'st, 'tis true, but plump and fresh, 
Genteelly drest, and sober too, forsooth ! 
At which I marvel much, to speak the truth : 
Thou wert both sot and sloven when alive— 
The grave does wonders — Lord ! how ghosts do thrive ! 

FELIX. 

Well may'st thou keep aloof, and gaze with dread 
On one long falsely number'd with the dead ; 
But to convince you that I still exist, 
Let me, Eugenius, shake thy friendly fist, 

EUGENIUS. 

Avaunt 1 — stand back !— -I ne'er shake hands with 
ghosts, 
I seek no commerce with hobgoblin hosts : 
1 have not, Faustus-like, dispos'd of self — 
I have not pocketted the Devil's own pelf) 
I no kind countenance to foul fiends give, 
On the most disant terms with Genii live; 
I treat all daemons coolly, and with me 
Familiar spirits never dare make free : 
Therefore, Sir Ghost, your courtesy forbear, 
Nor thus present to me that hand of air. 



131 

FELIX. 

Judge by this grasp, and from conviction, own 
A hand compos'd of good sound flesh and bone. 

EUGENICS. 

'Sdeath ! Mr. Ghost — be gentle, if you please ! 
Thou'st given my list a most infernal squeeze : 
I well might venture not to think thee dead, 
And swear Miss Ctof/io's sheers ne'er cut thy thread. 
But facts are stubborn things — and 'tis most clear, 
You cannot be the man you now appear ; 
Since 'tis a well-known fact, that ten years past, 
Drunk in a ditch, near Staines, you breath' d your last. 
I heard it from a man who saw you die, 
And had you to a bone-house wheel'd hard by. 

FELIX. 

O ! sacred be that hour, and blest the wife, 
Who with an angel's mercy sav'd my life ! 
A wretch abandon' d, profligate, and base, 
A lost, unpitied victim of disgrace, 
In wine I sought a refuge from distress, 
And sunk redue'd to Mis'ry's last excess : 
By all mankind deserted and disdain'd, 
A woman's love unshaken still remain 'd. 
Yes, one enlighten' d philanthropic maid, 
Her Christian zeal magnanimous display'd ; 
Far o'er the sex's proud decorum rose, 
And with divine compassion felt my woes. 
The means of mercy with success were us'd, 
And thro' my seeming corse new life inius'd : 
lleviv'd by Virtue, Vice alone expir'd, 
I felt my soul with dawning hopes inspir'd ; 
ft4 



132 

Once more with honest pride my bosom swell'd, 

I felt my mind to glorioas deeds impell'd ; 

Again 1 quicken' d to the love of fame, 

And glow 'd ennobled by a virtuous flame. 

'From death to life, from brute to human chang'd, 

To Virtue wedded, and from Vice estrang'd. 

This was my Julia's work — by her redeem'd, 

By her converted, cherish' d, and esteem' d, 

Big emulation thtobh'd in every vein, 

I strove with honest pride her love to gain : 

Till my desert was honourably shown, 

In deeds of worth congenial to her own ; 

And Love's best vows exchang'd at Hymen's shrine 

Fix'd the dear maid irrevocably mine, 

EUCENIUS. 

Some wives accelerate a husband's doom, 
And oft, post-haste, dispatch him to the tomb : 
We read of others, loving, bold, and brave, 
Who sav'd their lords from an untimely grave. 
I've heard of Hindoostan's illustrious dames, 
Who volunteer their bodies to the flames : 
Great is her high-soul'd sense of just remorse, 
Who burns in state beside her husband's corse ; 
And blends her vapours with the last sad smoke 
Of the poor murder'd lord, whose heart she broke. 
I've heard of many a wretch depriv'd of breath, 
Whom Hawes hath rescu'd from the jaws of death. 
Such blest phenomena we sometimes view — 
And ev'n your case I now think partly true : 
Yes, I believe your phoenix of a wife, 
Dead, tho' she found you, brought you back to life :- 



133 

But when I boldly find myself assurM, 
Gamesters maybe reclaim'd, and drunkards cur'd, 
Such miracles impossible I judge, 
Shrug up my shoulders, Felix, and cry — Fudge / 

FELIX. 

You never felt of love those sacred fires, 
That wake chaste hopes and delicate desires, 
Refine gross senses, and our souls excite 
To joys that soar above all coarse delight. 

EUGENIUS. 

What, can the god, who takes our hearts by storm- 
Can Love, triumphant Love ! such feats perform ? 
Make gamesters thus cut cards, and dice decline ? 
Make rakes grow chaste, and drunkards leave off wine? 
Methought Love's arrows always wrought a curse, 
Could soon turn good to bad, and bad to worse ; 
Make scholars dunces, wits to ciowns translate, 
Make grave philosophers like coxcombs prate, 
Make poets madmen, honest men rank knaves, 
Make heroes cowards, and make 'yrants slaves, 
Make Apathy red hot, make Zeal giow cool, 
Saints play the dev'l, and sages plav the fool. 
Cupid, methought, in pranks like these display'd 
His busv, meddling, mischief-making trade; 
But lr> ! this mighty \ot to rest and peace, 
(Patron alike of love-sick men and geese , 
A prodigy of kindness shews to thee, 
In him a friend indeed in need we see; 
Quack-like (at least in ail but handling fees), 
He cures thee of incurable disease ; 
g5 



134 

Then as his magic dart is brandishM thrice, 
Cries " Presto ! — quick ! — begone !" to ev'ry vice, 
And turns thee, if thy tale's well understood, 
From all that's bad, to ev'ry thing that's good. 
Love wrought for thee a miracle outright, 
That far exceeds the Black-a-moor w r ash'd white ; 
Nor hath the wheel-borne dame, like Cupid blind ? 
Or his confed'rate Hymen, prov'd less kind, 
Who gave thee the best gift beneath the skies, 
A wife so fair, so virtuous, and so wise. 

FELIX. 

How can my thanks to Hymen be confess'd ! 
Or how my vaiue of the gift express'd ! 
Whene'er to Heav'n I breathe my grateful vows, 
I still invoke new blessings on my spouse. 
Thus all my pray'rs begin — thus all conclude, 
With Heav'n's best mercies may she live indu'd! 
God bless my wife ! I gratefully exclaim, 
For ever lov'd and honour'd be her name! 
Succeeding years her growing worth confess, 
Each hour I find new cause my lot to bless : 
Let Young, let Shaw, let Littleton decide 
M How much the wife is dearer than the bride.' F 
Such, such alone can feel, yet ne'er relate, 
The nameless blessings of the married state : 
When temoers harmonize, when spirits blend, 
And in the wife we find our first best friend. 

EUGEMUS. 

Are there no days of brooding discontent, 
When husbands change their minds, and wives repent : 



135 

No bitter hours of sorrow and disgust, 

When men connubial fetters wish to burst : 

When the poor slave from jail would fain break loose, 

And extricate his neck from Hymen's noose ? 

What would you give, friend Felix, to be free, 

And lead a jovial single life like me ? 

FELIX. 

As soon blind moles their earthy dens shall leave f 
Like fish, the billows of the deep to cleave : 
As soon the salamander shall desire 
For purling brooks, to quit his native fire : 
As soon the river's bed, a trout shall yield, 
To seek repose on clover, in a field : 
As soon shall aldermen from feasts abstain, 
And Martin Luther wish himself Tom Paine : 
As soon M'Gregor shall deny his clan, 
As soon an angel wish himself a man, 
As I desire those fetters to divide, 
Which Cupid interwove, and Hymen tied. 
When lambs eat wolves, when horses cease to trot, 
When Nelson's name in England is forgot : 
When day and night alternate cease to reign, 
When order dies, and " chaos comes again :" 
Then I'll forsake my babes, desert my wife, 
And lead, like thee, a joyless single life. 

EUGEXIUS. 

Whoe'er yet pluck'd a rose without a thorn? 
Who free from tares expects to find his corn? 
Canst thou with confidence presume to go 
And claim the Flitch of Bacon at Dunmow ? 

G 6 



136 

Canst thou live stinted to one home-made wine* 
And bear off Partridge, thus, each day to dine ? 
Confess a well-known truth — possession tires, 
Satiety rakes out all am'rous fires, 
Dissolves each spell, each magic charm destroys,, 
And soon converts to gall, love's sweetest joys* 
The servant-horse if yok'd to drag the mill, 
Denies obedience to his master's will, 
And o'er his eyes a fillet must be found, 
E'er he'll consent to drudge his toilsome round*. 
Perpetual sameness ! — O ! that word forbear, 
The thought's enough to drive me to despair* 

FELIX. 

Sameness ! — satiety ! — such words are vain £ 
Mere exhalations of a coxcomb's brain. 
Some yawning listless fop without a mind, 
To mere corporeal happiness confm'd, 
In fancy's famine, and invention's dearth, 
To such degrading notions first gave birth. 
Had men ten minds, such means would prove too small, 
Creation's beaut'es might engrave them all : 
Still social converse brings to reason's view, 
Joys ever fresh, and pleasures ever new. 
Nor e'er shall wisdom's appetite be cloy'd, 
Till nature's last best secret is enjoy'd. 
When kindred minds in virtuous union meet, 
Connubial pleasure never grows replete. 
Some joys remain for ever unpossess'd, 
A void is left, vet aches not, in the breast. 
How may such bliss be nam'd to folly's tribe, 
They could not comprehend, could I describe. 



137 

EUGENIUS. 

Still there are crosses in the nuptial state, 
Children at least a weight of cares create ; 
Spread o'er declining age a ceaseless gloom, 
And bring grey hairs with sorrow to the tomb. 

FELIX. 

How dear, how welcome are such cares to me> 
Seat me a rosy stripling on each knee ; 
For pleasing is the task in fabled lore, 
Their tender minds with useful truths to store; 
And as they lisp the rudiments of speech, 
Each moral element of worth to teach : 
Dear the paternal office to excite 
A love of justice, and a sense of right. 
While in my darling girl 1 fondly trace 
The lovely miniature of Julia's face, 
Ah! with what rapture is my babe caress'd, 
With what emotion folded to my breast ? 
Wert thou the parent of a child like this, 
Then, then Eugenius, you might guess my bliss. 

EUGENIUS. 
Oh ! Mr. Felix, truly thou'rt endu'd 
With a blest wi r e, and a most happy brood : 
If this is Hymen's bondage, who'd live free? 
Heav'ns ! what a paradise must wedlocK be? 
I'll have a wife, by all the pow'rs above 1 
But ere we wed, 'tis right to fall in love. 
Who'll make the worthiest spouse, I'll leave to you. 
Direct my choice, and teach me how to woo. 
Some second J ulia on thy friend confer, 
The wife I marry, must resemble her. 



13S 

FELIX. 

Then single thou art fated to remain, 
The hope to find her equal, must be vaim 

EUGENIUS. 

If getting drunk, and dying in a ditch, 
Can make a man so happy, good, and rich, 
Who would not wish your brute-like fate to share, 
To find a wife so virtuous and so fair ? 
That love in such a wretch could work such change, 
And that you still exist appears so strange, 
That to the truth I will not yield belief, 
Till once again I see you eat roast beef. 
Give me your arm, step home with me and dine, 
To wash your story down requires much wine. 
You shall get drunk enough before you go, 
If ghosts are spirit-proof, I fain would know. 
To love and friendship largely we'll carouze, 
And my first toast shall be, God bless your Spouse. 

FELIX. 

If that's your toast, I'm bound to play my part, 
I'll drink, God bless my wife with all my heart. 



139 



PHAON to SAPPHO. 

-Ah ! with what fears, what grief, what rage possess'd, 

What frantic demon fires my Sappho's breast ; 

While those lamenting, tuneful strains 1 read, 

Where all the Muses, all the Graces plead : 

Where sorrow, rage, and jealousy by turns, 

But love throughout the whole triumphant burns: 

What rending conflicts, what emotions move 

A heart that beats but to return her love ! 

In each soft verse her grief too plain appears, 

Each plaintive line is still bedew'd with tears. 

Too well the sympathies of love succeed, 

For what in tears, she wrote ; in tears, I read : 

Yet can her Muse unfeelingly demand, 

If Phaon's eyes forget not Sappho's hand ? 

Can I forget that love-devoted shade, 

Where Sappho's writing first these eyes survey'd; 

Where, on a laurel's stem, 1 spied my name, 

And read the first avowal of her flame ? 

Our cyphers, close commix'd, she carv'd above, 

And then beneath, she trembling wrote J lote* 

Thus my response with grateful warmth I made, 

" Phaon accepts thy vows, O tuneful maid!" 

Our cyphers then in closer bonds I twin'd, 

And wrote I love upon the laurel's rhind. 

How oft that tree I folded to my breast, 

What ardent kisses on that bark I press'd, 

When, as I crown'd her with i f s fairest boughs, 

I made a fond renewal of my vows— 



140 

Vows of an honest heart, a faithful mind, 

That long have bound me, and shall ever bind. 

Yet Sappho wakes to wrath her glowing Muse 5 

The tenderest of lovers to accuse. 

Yet can that Muse unfeelingly demand 

If Phaon's eyes forget not Sappho's hand ! 

May HeavVs worst wrath pursue me when I prove 

False to thy worth, and perjur'd to thy love. 

When on my Sappho, now belov'd so well, 

My soul no more with fondues- longs to dwell ; 

When past delights no more my thoughts employ 9 

And retrospection yields no sense of joy, 

May I of mem'ry then live dispossess'd, 

And all good hopes be banish 'd from my breast. 

Tho' iEtna's fields thy Phaon long detain, 

(Those fields now vocal with his mournful strain) ; 

Tho' Etna's fields are scorch' d with rao-ino* fires, 

Cold are those flames compar'd to love's desires. 

Sicilian nymphs possess no charms for me, 

Ere they can please, they must resemble thee. 

And where can Phaon find a nymph so rare, 

So wise, so witty, and to him so fair. 

What nymph with Sappho can for praise contend, 

Whose matchless gifts so far the sex transcend? 

Harmonious minstrel ! now methmks I hear 

Those strains so plaintive, and that voice so clear. 

Each song, each ode, each interrupting kiss, 

Are all alike provocatives of bliss : 

Eternal motives of delight they prove, 

" For O ! how vast a memory has Love ! 

Yet Sappho's Muse can scornfully demand 

If Phaon's eyes forget not Sappho's hand ! 



141 

O write not thus ' — resume th' Impassion M lyre, 

But sing no strains but such as love inspire : 

Not e'en Apollo's lays so soft appear, 

So exquisitely sweet to Pliaon's ear. 

Love bids the coldest breast with fancy glow, 

And on the dullest fawns can wit bestow ; 

But thou, by Heav'n 1 with powers superior blcss'd, 

Thou art thyself a Muse, the Tenth and best. 

But O ! forbear in wrath the lyre to sound, 

Nor seek with tuneful jealousy to wound. 

These keen aspersions of thy charms forbear, 

Let ev'ry charm once more become thy care: 

Once more in dress display thy matchless taste, 

Let purple robes embrace that graceful waist. 

Let costly gems upon thy fingers shine, 

Still wear the plighted ring that once was mine ; 

That ring exchang'd for thine, still fondly worn, 

The ring I crave thee when our vows were sworn. 

Still twine fresh wreaths of laurel round thy head, 

On which the best perfumes their dews have shed. 

In chains of gold thy radiant tresses bind, 

Nor spread them wildly to the wanton wind. 

And O forget not, when most gayiy dress'd, 

With Phaon's fav'nte flow'r to deck thy breast, 

Pluck'd from a plant that but in Paphos grows, 

Love's mystic tree, that bears a golden rose. 

Again, dear nymph, resume such arts as these, 

Tho' none so little needs such arts to please. 

Too many charms, alas ! chose looks possess, 

And need no pow'rs to captivate from diess. 

To our dear babe, love's last most sacred tie, 

The absent father's tenderness supply; 



14£ 

Of fond endearments give a two-fold share, 

O watch its safety with redoubled care. 

To Love's best luxuries your soul resign, 

And while its lips are kiss'd, believe them mine. 

Let it with all thy tenderness be press'd 

Close to thy heart, yet softly to thy breast : 

That breast where Phaon oft his cheek reclin'd, 

While ev'ry passion of his heart refln'd. 

O then how full, how perfect was our bliss, 

When our souls mix'd in each luxurious kiss; 

Kisses that none but Love's disciples know, 

Kisses that none but lovers can bestow : 

When all is extasy, without alloy, 

And one continued scene of mutual joy, 

Alas ! those scenes how chang'd, those joys are past, 

Too great, too fierce, too exquisite to last ! 

Are they for ever gone, my Sappho, say ? 

Can they return no more ? O yes they may ! 

Alas ! till then I only can deplore 

The fate that drove me from the Lesbian shore. 

How could I, Sappho, feign my grief to you, 

And coldly greet you with a last adieu ? 

Canst thou believe I calmly could have said, 

Farewel, my love, adieu my Lesbian maid. 

A wretch far banish' d from that happy clime, 

Where endless pleasures wing'd the fleeting time. 

Far from my Sappho now each hour is past, 

More long, more dull, more wretched than the last. 

The lawns and groves, the vales and meads appear 

Parch' d, wither' d, fruitless, desolate, and drear. 

Now the grand orb, whose all refulgent blaze 

Was once the object of devoutest praise, 



143 

Can charm no more, unmovM I see him rise, 

And view his setting with indifferent eyes. 

Nay, the chaste moon, whose trembling light displayed 

The love-devoted bow'r my Sappho made, 

Where each dear emblem flower of passion join'i 

The bow'r in which my Sappho first prov'i kind ; 

The changing moon has lost each pleasing pow'r, 

For now no more she lights me to the bow'r. 

The birds, whose songs I once so fondly pnz'd, 

Are noisy, dull, detested, and despis'd ; 

All but the nightingale, whose plaintive moan 

Displays a grief congenial to my own : 

Responsive to her dirge my griefs I vent. 

And my lost love as tenderly lament. 

How oft to heav'n I raise my suppliant breath, 

And seek with tears the friendly hand of death ; 

Yet fear the weak petition to receive, 

And wish for Love aud Sappho still to live : 

Still in her arms I centre all my joy, 

No time, no distance, can my love destroy. 

My Sappho's image lives in ev'ry thought, 

To ev'ry object her dear name is taught. 

In ev'ry dream my soul deluded proves 

The hopes, the fears, and pleasures of our love*. 

Ah ! can I e'er those past delights forget ! 

No, like his Sappho, Phaon feels them yet. 

Then O, what cause of anguish can she find, 

What jealous frenzy thus distracts her mind? 

Far from thy breast dispel th' unworthy pain, 

'Tis Phaon sues, shall Phaon's pray'r be vain ! 

The charge impos'd on me, in turn I give, 

And cry, " be mindful of our loves and live.** 



144 

Far from Leucadia's fatal steep remove, 
Nor seek from death the remedy of love. 
Check thy despair, renounce the rash design, 
Nor consecrate thy harp at Phcebus' shrine ; 
Or soon shall Phaon there his lyre bestow. 
And seek his Sappho in the realms below. 
In pity, Venus, hear a lover's pray'rs, 
Grant me the pow'r to soothe my Sappho's cares, 
Let this epistle check her rising fears, 
And stop the tender progress of her tears. 
'Tis true, that rudely penn'd in haste it flies, 
Unfit to meet the tuneful Sappho's eyes. 
Yet judge not, Sappho, Phaon's love the less, 
Because no graceful tropes his thoughts express: 
Nor scorn the strains that faithfully rehearse, 
What passion wildly dictates to his verse. 
No polish'd style is mine, no skilful art, 
Each sentence springs spontaneous from the heart, 
Inspir'd by thee, I caught the spark, 1 own, 
Which warm'd a breast to ev'ry Muse unknown ; 
Abreast, before my Sappho's love inspir'd. 
Which no enthusiast glow of fancy fir'd ; 
Accept my verses, and their faults excuse, 
And judge with eyes of love the lover's Muse. 
Nor will my Sappho scorn the welcome lays 
Which fly the harbingers of happier days. 
Expand thine arms that Phaon to receive, 
Who now disdains for aught but thee to live. 
Ail foes, all fears, all perils I defy. 
Together, Sappho, let us live and die. 
My soul is all convuls'd with fierce desires, 
Fond expectations, and tumultuous fires. 
I come, I fly, impatience wings my feet, 
Warm as love's god, and as his arrows fleet. 



M5 
BOILEAlPs EIGHTH SATIRE, 

FREELY TRANSLATED. 



CJ)f all the animals who walk or creep, 
Skim the fresh air, or swim the briny deep, 
From Rome to China, Paris to Japan, 
The worst and most irrational is Man, 

( What ! is a worm, an ant, a pigmy fly ! 
6 A vermin loathsome to the human eye, 
' What! are the croaking natives of the fen, 

* Are frogs and toads superior to men ? 

* What! are the grazing hulls, and browzing goats, 

* More wise than men array'd in golc-lac'd coats?' 

You shake your head, and think you hear amiss, 
Are men less wise than brutes ? I answer, yes. 
You tell me, man is nature's lawful king, 
To him belong the glories of the spring: 
For him the seasons yield their fruitful stores, 
And Ceres' horn a full abundance pours. 
To him the vassal brutes must all submit, 
For he alone is bless' d with sense and wit. 
I grant his reason ; grant, bis pow'r to rule, 
But thence infer that he's an arrant fool. 

" To rank an idiot with a stupid calf, 

" Is lawful satire, and may raise a laugh ; 

" But to a grave logician more is due, 

** I wait to hear you prove your doctrine true." 



14S 

Nay, then, let Reason judge our cause — proceed ! 
Open your brief in form, get up and plead ; 
Let us like two sage barristers dispute— 
You're plaintiff Man, and I defendant Brute. 
Say, what is wisdom ? — Come, define the term- 
Does it consist in being cool and firm — 
In living proof to ev'ry base desire, 
And all the assaults of Envy, Hate, and Ire— 
In having strength temptations to withstand- 
In equanimity and self-command. 
O'er hills and vales th' industrious emmets roam, 
And bring with toil a plenteous harvest home : 
So when the howling north winds keenly blow, 
And winter comes array' d in frost and snow, 
Safe in their nests the cautious ants remain, 
And live all winter on their summer's gain. 
No senseless whim this prudent insect sways, 
To brave the fury of December's days ; 
Or skulk at home when summer's genial soil 
Invites his labour, and rewards his toil. 
Dare men this school of industry despise ? 
Are we thus prudent, politic, and wise ? 
Shall I, by Cupid or the Devil beset, 
To Hymen's altar lead a vain coquette ? 
<c Shall I," exclaims a peer, devoid of shame, 
w To Fashion's list subscribe a cuckold's name ? 

" Shall I, to keep a w of high renown, 

€ * Go part'ners in a wife with half the town ? 

" Are there not fools enough already seen 

" To dish up food to gorge your hungry spleen ? 

€t Snail 1 my name and family degrade 

€( By taking to my arms some hacknied jade ? 



<< 



147 

No — e'er I stoop a prince's w to wed 

Jack Ketch shall be my priest, the grave my bed |" 
To the new moon his Lordship breathes these vows, 
And marries, ere 'tis full — a harlot spouse, 
A batter'd, vile, discarded demirep : 
Yet to his friends he boasts this prudent step ; 
Describes the joys of a connubial life, 
And blesses God for such a virtuous wife ! 
Such, such is man ! — he knows not black from white, 
Commits each morn what he condemns at night ; 
He runs to ev'ry opposite excess, 
And changes his opinions like his dress : 
Yet, if we take the poor fanatic's word, 
He's so conceited, selfish, and absurd, 
He'll swear, with due solemnity of face, 
That he alone is Nature's prop and base ; 
Of all Heav'n's works describes himself the best, 
And styles himself the lord of all the rest. 
Is he in truth the sovereign lord of all ? 
And do the brutes obey his kingly call ? 
M Yes — he's their lawful monarch," you reply— 
M Who dare presume this doctrine to deny ?"— 
The wretch who went to give the lion law, 
And vanquish' d bled beneath the monster's paw. 
You raise a smile — for once the truth declare, 
Does the bear fly the man, or man the bear? 
Should your old grannum, her last gander left, 
Humbly request a fox to leave off theft- 
Will he grow penitent, his prey let loose, 
And in her apron drop the victim goose ? 
Say, should a shepherd bid the wolves withhold 
Their nightly depredations on his fold— 



148 

Will rav'nous wolves his strict injunction keep, 
Eat grass like lambs, and leave off stealing sheep ? 
Suppose some king proclaims a dread decree, 
That pards and tigers from his realms shall flee— 
Will they cry " Vive le roy /•" — his will obey 5 
And to some new dominion march away ? 
Behold this lord of all created things ! 
How many lords he has— how many kings- 
How many tyrants o'er his mind preside— 
Love, Envy, Avarice, Ambition, Pride ; 
His vassal Reason these at will controul, 
And in perpetual bondage hold his soul. 
Scarce has kind Sleep compos'd your weary eyes 
When Av'rice shakes your bed,- and bids you rise. 
" Leave me awhile, base Av'rice S let me lie — 
<{ Let me repose till morn !" you yawning cry — 
*' 'Tis midnight now — no time to think of trade, 
** Why Av'rice thus my peaceful couch invade ? 
" What would'st thou, most unseasonable guest ?"— 
<( Arise !" cries Av'rice—" 'tis no time for rest ; 
" When gain's in question, what is peace or health ? 
fC Sluggard, arise ! and seek the road to wealth ; 
" Pocket the dollars, finger the chequins, 
" And rummage all the globe for ways and means : 
" Bring toys from Holland, amber from Japan, 
«' Pepper from Goa, cheese from Parmassan, 
M Mace from Manilla, nutmegs from Ceylon, 
M Rum from Jamaica, olives from Bayonne." 
*« What need have I to trade — I've gold enough ?" 
" You ne'er can have too much — 'tis precious stuff : 
66 Be artful, cruel, persevering, bold — 
« Dare all, brave ev'ry thing in quest of gold; 



119 

u Fly to the most unwholesome foreign climr*, 

" Hob, plunder, perjure, murder, fear no crimes; 

" Brave the worst perils of the faithless deep, 

M Go without food and clothes, abstain from sleep. 

11 Had you the riches Croesus once possessed, 

" Ne'er to your house invite one guziling guest ; 

u Keep no domestic rats to gorge your meat, 

€C No grooms and footmen, for the rogues will eat ; 

u And let a footpad sooner cut your throat 

u Than strip your carcass of a threadbare coat !" 

Yet, why this thrift — this most insatiate greed— 

This penal life of artificial need ? 

To hoard up treasure for some hopeful heir, 

Whose wild exce§s shall make ev'n spendthrifts stare; 

A thoughtless squand'rer, who, with all your bags, 

Will soon reduce himself to want and rags— 

Who soon, from true necessity, I trow, 

Will look as mean and poor as you do now. 

" N'e?nporte," cnes Av'rice, " come, no more delays 

" Leap nimbly in the boat, the ship's a-weign." 

For one, the god of money has no charms— 

Him the shrill clarion rouzes up to arms ; 

forth from each dear domestic peaceful scene 

Ambition drags him to the hostile green, 

To prove a second Caesar is his aim, 

And dying to becrown'd with deathless fume; 

To have his warlike deeds remember'd long, 

To shine in history, and live in song. 

* Ambition still is deem'd in evVy clime 

* The hero's virtue, and the tyrant's crime. 

* Your Muse grows too fastidious, too austere — 
4 That heroes are all rogues, we next shall hear : 

B 



150 

* You'll tell us Cassar met a worthy fate, 
€ And swear that Alexander was not great.* 
His greatness I admit — be calm, be cool — 
He was a great assassin and a fool : 
By Heav'ns ! the greatest madman since the flood ! 
Whose fell. ambition drench'd the earth with blood ; 
A cruel wretch, on war and conquest bent, 
Who spread wide ruin wheresoe'er he went: 
O ! something more than fool, and worse than mad, 
What name is vile enough for men so bad ! 
Born o'er a happy nation to preside, 
To be their king, their patron, and their guide, 
Could he not rule his realms in virtuous peace ? 
No — -there were men to murder, states to fleece : 
And the fool wept when he subdu'd them all, 
To find himself too great, the world too small. 
He was a bolt in Heav'n's high vengeance hurl'd, 
And born to play at football with the world ; 
He rul'd his subjects with an iron rod, 
ShowM them his horns, and styl'd himself a god. 
O Macedonia ! answer for this guilt — 
Why for thy monarch was no mad-house built ? 
Thrice happy had it been for all mankind, 
If Alexander had been dumb, mad, blind; 
Would in a ceil the maniac had been thrown 
The day you weakly plac'd him on a throne ! 
You should have giv'n the king, who gave thee law, 
A c-ood straight- waistcoat and a crown of straw ! 
But, hold !-— I find 'tis endless to digress, 
And minute down each whimsical excess; 
Siuch follies at full length discuss'd we mid 
By those who sing the vices of mankind : 



151 

I wish no moral dogmas to rehearse, 

Or put all Hobbes and Rochefoucault inverse* 

Let us the question candidly pursue, 

And place the subject in the fairest view. 

You say that men may claim a ju-t applause, 

Because they plan deep schemes, and form good lawa; 

And wisely make, among a world of things, 

Judges and lawyers, bishops, statesmen, kings; 

The surest steps for civil order take, 

And keep the laws inviolate they make. 

'Tis true — but fearless of this strict police, 

These courts of law, and officers of peace, 

Does one hyaena steal another's prey ? 

Or wolf rob wolf upon the King's highway ? 

Do tigers, fir'd with Glory's mad alarms, 

Disturb their native woods, and rise in arms ? 

Do bears dispute with bears for straws and pins ? 

Or fight about the colour of their skins ? 

Whoe'er beheld Numidia's bleeding plain 

Cover'd with beasts in civil faction slain ; 

Lionw'fch lion, lynx with lynxenrag'd, 

Father with son, and son with sire engag'd ; 

Fighting to end some national debate, 

Or re-elect some tyrant for the state ; 

To prove which preacher is most orthodox, 

Or if 'tis best to vote for Hare or Fox ? 

Leopards on leopards never vent their spite, 

And bears to bears are friendly and polite : 

No party broils, or law's litigious suits, 

Disturb the happiness of social brutes : 

No lawyer eagles, in their monarch's name, 

From his true heirs a stranger's fortune claim :* 

* Alluding to the Droit D'Aubaine. 
H 2 



152 

No tradesman bird, for want of friends and bail, 
Is made a bankrupt, and confin'd in jail : 
Ne'er from the woods a doe was known to drag 
Before a court of law her husband stag, 
Rail at his impotence in terms most coarse, 
And impudently sue for a divorce : 
No lawyers brute society molest, 
They hold no courts of chanc'ry or request ; 
No Doctors Commons, Bow-street, or Guildhall, 
One upright court of conscience is their all. 
Man, man alone — confute this truth who can — 
Proves the most cruel enemy of man : 
The savage wretch his friend, his brother kills- 
Nay, his own blood with impious fury spills. 
'Twas not enough his Hell-directed hand 
The first fell instruments of murder plann'd, 
Forg'd the keen tomahawk, the cannon bor'd, 
Pointed the bayonet, and edg'd the sword ; 
But more to propagate Destruction's cause 
The wretch form'd politics, and fashion 'd laws ; 
Taught learned proctors, with insidious art, 
From the straight paths of Justice to depart ; 
Her most conspicuous truths they made obscure, 
Made life and property more insecure ; 
Found out for guilt a science of defence, 
And parted equity from common sense. 
*■ Be calm," you'll cry, " this peevish heat forbear— 
*' 1 grant of follies men possess their share; 
" They ebb and flow like Ocean's restless waves, 
<c Are full of whims, and sometimes Passion's slaves ; 
" But still their smallest virtues far o'erpay 
* c Their worst defects, and wipe ail faults away. 



153 

u Was it not man, v;hose all-observing eyes 
M Explor'd tliv greatest secrets of the skies, 
** Found out the way to reckon an eclipse, 
•* Invented sciences, constructed ships : 
" Jn short — who, studying Nature's curious laws, 
M For ev'ry great effect could find a cause ? 
11 Have brutes mechanic arts, ingenious tools, 
" Poets and painters, colleges and schools, 
•■ Doctors in all the various learned lines, 
fi Great judges, good physicians, sound divines ; 
" Deep politicians, statesmen, financiers, 
€< Critics, philosophers, and engineers ; 
u Artists to teach them minuets and jigs, 
M Or bears to plead for them in three-tail' d wigs ?'* 
No— these, I grant, are wanting amongst brutes, 
They broach no metaphysical disputes ; 
No conj'ringKatterfeltos they can boast, 
Nor does of quacks, an advertising host, 
Under the base pretence of doing good, 
Poison the patient-natives of the wood. 
Yet should we grant that man is half so wise 
As he appears in his own partial eyes — 
Tell me if this is Wisdom's golden age ? 
Are men respected now for being sage ? 
A modern father thus instructs his son— 
" If to your house you'd have our nobles run, 
M Leave st* dying Newton, Bacon, Locke, and Boyle, 
" And learn forthwith to calculate like Hoyle : 
" Three thousand pounds I sent last night express, 
" To save a viscount from extreme distress ; 
11 On strong security my cash I lent — 
€( What's three years' int'rest, boy, at cent, per cent, ?" 
a 3 



154 

*' Nine thousand pounds, at cent, per cent, you'll clear, 

" If thus the sum is doubled ev'ry year : 

-€ Zooks, Sir ! you've found a mine — a golden fleece ! 

•' W ay does your bargain hold so short a lease ? 

4i Run to the viscount, and the bond renew 1" 

•* Bravo, my lad! — bravo! — you'll do — you'll do! 

" Child of my heart ! — my true-begotten heir I 

s * Your mother was a saint, she play'd me fair. 

" Come, you're a lad of exquisite good sense, 

** How many farthings are in eighteen pence ?'* 

" Why, seventy-two — that problem's clear enough." 

'* Weli said, young Solomon ! you'll make the stuff ; 

*' Your wisdom soon shall reach the highest pitch*— 

" Study no art but that of growing rich ; 

■* Make it your pride to calculate off hand 

" The cost of timber, and the worth of land ; 

*• To reckon up the duties upon malt, 

i( Or find the product of a tax on salt ; 

<c How to forestall the market, buy up crops, 

" And brew strong-beer without the use of hops ; 

" Learn how each substitute for wine is made, 

" And all the dark chicaneries in trade : 

" Be perjur'd, cruel, treach'rous, sly, and bold, 

M Turn Arab, pirate, murderer, for gold; 

" Let not Compassion's voice thy heart mislead, 

'* And tempt thee to perform one gen'rous deed : 

«* Court Fortune — seek her patronage by times, 

M And win it by the greatness of your crimes. 

M Then shall you see an abject hungry throng 

44 Exalt your name in many a venal song ; 

M Then many a schoolman's mercenary pen 

*' Shall write you down the worthiest of men, 



155 

" Proving, in Latin, Hebrew, French, and Creek, 
u Tongues you can neither read, or write, or ^peak, 
11 How matchless your accomplishments appear, 
" How much to you philosophy is dear, 
u What aid from you the sciences derive, 
" And how the arts beneath your sanction thrive ; 
M Tho' not one science, not one liberal art, 
" Refines your mind, or elevates your heart ; 
u Tho' not of wisdom one celestial spark 
'* Darts thro' the umbrage of a soul so dark ; 
" When your chief art — your only science this, 
" Your soul's first wish, and dearest hope of bliss, 
M To study money-making day and night, 
M And practise usury with all your might. 
u Yet shall biographers relate your worth, 
" Style you the greatest sage that treads the earth ; 
11 Sculptors to marble shall commit your praise, 
•' In the most public streets your statue raise ; 
u And for the excellence of being rich, 
" Hurl Shakspeare down, and stick you in his nitch. 
u He who is rich, is all that man can be, 
" Wise, tho' an idiot of the first degree ; 
u Learned tho' ignorant, and gay tho' grave, 
•* A wit if stupid — if a coward brave : 
" He's all that's charming, excellent, and rare, 
" Lov'd by the great, and courted by the fair. 
" Almighty gold, witb necromantic art, 
" Can beauty to deformity impart, 
* J A Venus from a harridan create, 
" Give bloom to age, and make the crooked straight; 
t* But poverty, tho' exquisitely fair, f 

u Grow loathsome as contaminated air. 
h 4 



156 

6i Julia herself, in beauty's treasures rich", 

" If poor in purse, grows hideous as a witch % 

" No feeling glances animate her face, 

" Her stately form seems destitute of grace; 

46 Her snowy breast assumes a sallow hue, 

" Her bright eyes lose their sentimental blue ; 

" Nor can her fine-turn' d limbs from scorn escape, 

" Tho' Love's true standard of a perfect shape ; 

" Her form grows faulty, and her features coarse, 

M Her seraph voice unmusical and hoarse — 

" That nymph once deem'd an object of delight 

" Is thought, when poor, a nuisancce to the sight. ' r 

5 Tis thus a skilful us'rer trains his son, 

The paths of Virtue and of Want to shun ; 

And many a fool grows rich, who knows no more 

Than this plain maxim — two and two make four. 

Let our attention now be fix'd on him, 

Whose cheeks get wither'd, and whose eyes grow dim, 

With frequent midnight studious research 

Through all the mouldy annals of the church ; 

Who wades with indefatigccble toil 

Thro' many a righteous war and holy broil ; 

Thro' the dark works of many a bigot monk^ 

Zealously frantic, and devoutly drunk ; 

Who, in Fanaticism's crazy boat, 

On Controversy's ocean gets afloat; 

To ev'ry wild sectarian a slave, 

And toss'd about alike on ev'ry wave : 

Luther and Calvin, with the boist'rous rage 

Of adverse gales, in turns his bark engage. 

Now see him dash'd on Toland's atheist rocks a 

Nowfound'ring in a hurricane from Knox : 



157 

Now he casts anchor, with a steadfast hope, 
To find a peaceful harbour with the Pope ; 
But Whitfield soon his restless bark ass.i Is 
With the loud howl of Methodistic gales. 
Dismasted and ungovernable now, 
The helm no more conducts the wayward prow j 
High o'er the masts th' infuriate billows rise, 
Impenetrable darkness veils the skies: 
In vain the helpless, weak, bewilder'd wight 
Employs his spark of intellectual light; 
And, lo ! he drifts, while tempests howl around* 
Lost in a gulph of mystery profound. 
Yet he to broach a theory presumes — 
To make new proselytes his pen assumes ; 
And recommends, to save the soul of man, 
A new religion, on his own w<se plan. 
For this the Bible the fartatiC quotes* 
Mars each plain text with visionary notes ; 
Studies each art to make the sense absurd, 
Perverts each thought, and misconstrues each word. 
At length with toil his work is made complete, 
And comes in print to give the world a treat : 
But guess the end of all the author's pains — 
Think what lie gets for cudgelling his brains. 
A copy of his book, superbly bound, 
The man presents to all his friends around : 
Mark his reward — a curt'sy from bis cook, 
And, " Sir, I humbly thank you for my book J 
" A better gift no scullion need drsire, 
M For ev'ry day it helps to light the rlie." 
But let us aim at less abstruse designs, 
Leave controversial feuds to deep divines * 
h 5 



15S 

Turn scriv'ner, us'rer, banker — that's your mark !. 
Leave studying Luther, Calvin, Blair, and Clarke, 
Scout heretics and papists — fly their schools, 
And set them down with me for wrangling fools. 

* Your Muse grows profligate and indiscreet— 

' Dare not thus lightly such grave themes to treat ; 

* But tho' you rail, the truth must be confess'd— 

* You can't deny that man's with reason bless'd : 

* Reason's the light that shines, his course to show, 

* The faithful pilot that directs his prow.' 
But what avails this pilot's guiding hand, 
Where dangers unforeseen the bark may strand ? 
Lo ! many a hidden shoal his caution mocks — 
Passion's fierce squalls., and Destiny's dark rocks : 
To scribbling Bavius, with the moon-struck brain,, 
Poor guardian Reason pleads her cause in vain ; 
Her prudent counsel bids him leave off rhymes, 
Yet each wise hint but aggravates his crimes : 
Bavius still dares his dogg'ril to recite, 

Tho' straight his audience take themselves to flight ? 
For when the Grub-street mania fires his breast, 
Up starts each brother, cousin, friend, and guest ; 
All rush down stairs the spouting pest to shun-— 
Yea, ev'n his shoe-boys from the nuisance run. 
An ass that acts by Nature's humbler laws, 
And his small share of sense from instinct draws. 
Tunes not his voice to chaunt an ode to Spring, 
Or challenges the nightingale to sing : 
Tho' deem'd a fool, enlighten'd seems his mind ; 
But man, 'midst Reason's lights, appears stark blind* 
To Wisdom's ways man holds no just pretence, 
For all his actions seem devoid of sense. 
Now cross, nowpleas'd, now happy, now perplex'd? 
Gay without cause, and without reason vex'd; 



159 

He makes or mars, as chance or whim directs-^ 

Consents, refuses, chooses, or rejects ; 

Is fickle, positive, each hour by turns, 

And what he begs to-day, to-morrow spurns. 

Lives there a bear, a leopard, or a buck, 

Who puts his faith in omens of ill luck ? 

Who thinks ere that day twelvemonth one must bleed, 

If thirteen stags together meet to feed ? 

Who thinks spilt salt predicts Misfortune's scourge, 

Or deems each raven croaks a fun'ral dirge ? 

Tell me if man e'er saw the dullest beast 

Bow to an idol like a pagan priest ; 

Or kneeling in the dust, with might and main, 

Pray wood and stone to send them wind and rain ? 

Never — but men with Reason's sunshine warm'd 

Adore the graven gods themselves have form'd. 

Yes, brutes have seen weak men with fear debas'd 

Crouching to monkeys on their altars p.ac'd— 

Have seen them, on the borders of the Nile, 

Fall down and deify a crocodile ! 

* Why bring examples from th' Egyptian shore, 

* And quote the odiou? gods such fools adore ? 
' Can these vague argument for logic pass, 

' And prove a sage more stupid than an ass— 

* An ass, whose name itself bespeaks a jest, 

* A brute more dull, more scorn'd than all the rest ; 
' Whose ills are greatest, and whose joys are least, 

1 The common laughing stock of man and beast ?' 
Yes, ev'n this brute that viler brutes misuse, 
And without grounds unjustly thus abuse — 
This very ass. if he possess'd full powVs 
To vindicate his faults, and point out ours ; 
h6 



160 

If Heav'n, proud men philosophy to teach, 

Would grant this ass the privilege of speech— 

What cutting sarcasms from his tongue might fall ? 

How he might satirize us, one and all ! 

What are his thoughts when in our crowded streets 

A motly multitude of fops he meets ; 

Some white, some black, a heterogeneous race, 

Some all in rags, and some bedawb'd with lace ? 

What thinks he when he meets a murd'rous quack, 

Carried by Death himself a pick-a-back ; 

Sees twelve fat beadles on one prelate wait, 

Or twelve furrM gownsmen march in pedant state? 

What, when he sees a sheriff and his gang 

Going with demn pomp some wretch to hang? 

What would he say, if to St James's drawn, 

He saw a mob of courtiers cringe and fawn ? 

What, if his ears should catch th' accursed brawl 

Of quirking counsels pleading at Guildhall ? 

What would be say, it in full court he saw, 

Rang'd in due form, each officer of law; 

Justices, judges, tipstaffs, and their tr.bes 

Of proctors, Serjeants, clerks, and all their scribes- ? 

Should this poor donkey, in a spleen-struck fit, 

Turn, as he might, a misanthropic wit, 

And find, as did his brother ass of old, 

In iEsop's time, a tongue to play the scold — 

Shrewdly discoV ring that our human race 

The name of sense and reason thus disgrace — 

Smiling he'd cry, with sapient nod of head, 

" I woulc not change my thistles for your bread ; 

" Content 1 am a jack-ass still to be — 

" For men, by Heav'ns ! are gteater fools than me !** 



THE 

WHITE MAN's GRATITUDE, 

A NEGRO TALE: 

Written when the Abolition of the Slave Trade was first 
brought forward in the House of Commons. 



Still there are men with heav'n-born virtues bless'd, 

Whose hearts can feel for innocence oppressed; 

Who well the Christian character sustain, 

Honest, sincere; benignant, and humane : 

Still there are men, mild, merciful and kind, 

With justice warm'd, and charity refin'd. 

Sadly to such, for sympathy I plead, 

And O, may such alone my verses read. 

Long has an ^Ethiop languish'd to impart 

The secret griefs that agonize his heart, 

And vent those cares that nurtur'd in his breast, 

Prey on his health, and desolate his rest. 

W r retches delight their sufferings to disclose ; 

It soothes the captive to relate his woes. 

Yet dare I hope this solace to embrace, 

Sternly withheld from all our suffering race ? 

May Slaves presume to seek this dear relief, 

And claim this last sad privilege of grief? 

Ah no ! — to them belongs no bold appeal, 

And silent they must bear the wrongs they feel. 

Are we so cold, so void of passion's tire, 

So uninform'd by delicate desire, 

So dull, so mean, so gross in our pursuits, 

That the proud Whites shall rank us with the brutes] 



162 

If to the African the right belongs, 

Like Europe's injur'd son, to plead his wrongs; 

If he the sacred privilege may claim 

To cherish virtue, and to prize good fame : 

To feel each bond by which the heart is tied, 

And glow with sentiments of high-sour d pride? 

If he may dare for vice to entertain 

An upright man's inflexible disdain, 

Thanks on the brave and worthy to bestow, 

To love a friend, and execrate a foe ? 

O God of mercy ! — if a slave may raise 

His grateful voice to sing a/Ve maris praise, 

Then shall my bold hand touch a tuneful string, 

And Wilbertorce, to thee, my Muse shall sing. 

Will the proud sons of Europe fondly throng 

To hear an iEthiop's uninstructed song? 

Ah no \ the polish 'd Whites will scorn his strains, 

Mock his misfortunes, and insult his pains. 

To think him rational, is deem'd a sin, 

They hate him for the colour of his skin. 

But shall a race, that still to thee may owe 

The first great meed that justice can bestow ; 

Shall men, created slaves, that now thro* thee 

May hope (O just ambition) to be free : 

Shall these, tho' wrong'd, and scorn'd by half their 

kind, 
To deeds of great philanthropy be blind ; 
Theiv heart's best feelings fearfully suppress, 
And but in tears their gratitude express ? 
Not Europe's sons, with all their fell disdain, 
The tribute of my feelings shall restrain. 
Thou gen'rous patron of an injur'd race, 
Mark'd, ev'n in birth, the victims of disgrace^ 



103 

Thou great supporter of a noble cause, 
Receive one grateful ^Lthiop's warm applause, 
Nor scorn, my Wilbcrforce, these humble lays, 
Big with a warm sincerity of praise ; 
For thou alone couldst resolutely rise, 
The sordid arts of policy despise, 
Proclaim our miseries, our wrongs expose, 
And cry aloud for justice on our foes. 

What pow'rs of justice can my wrongs redress! 
What good man's pity now can make them less ! 
Alas ! how long in silence must I bear 
These secret griefs that yield me to despair! 
Without one friend my drooping heart to cheer, 
Or sooth me with one sympathetic t^ar ! 

Once I had friends that well deserv'd the name, 
Guides of my youth, and guardians of my feme : 
Whose worth was prov'd, whose probity was cried, 
Once I had friends, by love's best bonds allied : 
A father, firm, sagacious, good and great, 
The first best honour'd patriot of the state. 
A mother, who in worth her sex excell'd, 
Whose pious precepts in respect I held; 
Whose virtuous conduct school' d my earliest youth, 
And rill'd my bosom with a love of truth. 
A sister, gen'rous, feeling, andrefin'd: 
A brother, valourous, and great of mind. 
And O ! more dearly priz'd than all the rest, 
A wife, who clasp'd me to her faithful breast! 
But now, from friends like these in treach'ry torn, 
I live in wild despair their loss to mourn : 
Now, robb'd of ev'ry joy my soul held dear, 
No good to hope, and ev'ry ill to fear ; 



164: 

Oppressed, insulted, desolate I stand* 
For ever banish' d from my native land ! 
Death is the last sad boon from heaven I crave, 
But still, alas ! I live, and am a Slave, 

why should I such miseries endure, 

While my proud tyrant lives from want secure ? 

Why should this wretch be thus supremely bless'd. 

Reigns there one virtue in his sordid breast ? 

(Stain'd as he is with gold's ignoble lust, 

False and dishonest, cruel and unjust) 

A worthless husband, and a treach reus friend, 

And dare this wretch to heaven's best gifts pretend,? 

Is such a man more worthy to be free, 

Is liberty more dear to him than me ? 

Ah I why was I to such afflictions born, 

And doom'd the heir of wretchedness and scorn I 

Have I deserv'd my lot ? — proclaim my crime, 

My shin is blacky and JEthiop is mij clime m 

Once in my native land 1 liv'd content, 

And all my days in happiness were spent* 

To fame, to fortune, and to virtue bred, 

In youth, a life of gay delight I led ; 

Taught the true paths of honour to pursue,. 

My great forefathers' deeds I kept in view : 

1 trod in glory's paths, as they had done, 
And wore the palm of merit 1 had won. 
Rank and respect, pre-eminence and fame, 

Are meeds with us. thar ne'er unite with shame. 
They who by deeds disloyal, mean, or vile, 
Their honour'd ancestors' fair fame defile, 
Endure the bitter scorf's of an t'leir race, 
And sink oppress 'd with stigmas of disgrace* 



165 

Succession there no lasting title gives, 
Fame only flourishes while virtue lives : 
Xor can a name from scorn the coward save, 
Despts'd the more, because his sire was brave. 
Expert in manly sports and warlike deeds, 
I fearless vaulted on the wildest steeds, 
And oft exulting in my well-prov'd might, 
ProvokM the lion and the pard to fight. 
With ease 1 triumph'd o'er the beasts of prey, 
But human monsters are more fell than they. 
How fierce, alas ! how faithless and unjust, 
Never in them, O Blacks, repose your trust. 
Fly the white hypocrite, suspect his smile, 
Trust not his blandishments, and dread his guile. 
O learn the white man* 9 gratitude to shun, 
Or trust like me, and be like me undone ! 
Restrain, my heart, these agonizing throes, 

burst not, till thy sorrows I disclose. 
Let me the story of my wrongs reveal 

To those whom Heav'n has taught, like thee, to feel, 

Once as to hunt I unattended came, 
And rang'd the forests in pursuit of game, 
llouz'd by a sudden scream, I gaz'd around, 
It spoke distress, and drew me to the sound. 

1 saw a man, drsponding, wet, and pale, 

Who scarce, with pain, his weary limbs could trail; 

In ambush crouch' d, beneath a clump of trees, 

A lion stood, prepar'd the wretch to seize. 

For ^Fthiop's foe the white-skinn'd man I knew, 

But his misfortunes my compassion drew : 

Quick from my bow J sped a well-aim'd dart, 

And piere'd the raging monster to the heart. 



166 

O'erpowerM with fear, with toil and famine spent. 

The sbipwreck'd wretch his knees submissive bent; 

His tears of suppliant sorrow bath'd my feet, 

I guess'd his wants, and gave him food to eat ; 

His tott'ring frame supported, dried his cloaths, 

Made him a bed, and guarded his repose. 

He woke refresh 'd, my knees with joy embrac'd, 

Then on his breast his hands devoutly placed, 

With looks that vouch' d his thanks, my cares repaid^ 

And all the eloquence of grief display 'd. 

I grasp' d his hand, and melted at his woe, 

Stood forth the guardian of my country's foe. 

Great were his sorrows, friendless was his lot, 

And in his suff'rings 1 the man forgot. 

But my stern countrymen, with vengeance fir'd, 

For yEthiop's wrongs a sacrifice requir'd : 

For him, their rage I resolutely brav'd, 

Appeas'd their anger, and the victim sav'd ! 

To sooth his grief, no friendly rites I spar'd, 

My home, my wealth, myall, with him I shar'd* 

Soon in our festive sports he gayly join'd, 

Relax' d his sorrows, and unbent his mind : 

Our language learnt, his genius quickly caught 

Such humble science as our sages taught. 

He soon display'd his knowledge in return, 

And gave us many a curious art to learn ; 

Taught social pastimes, sung sweet strains of mirth, 

And told strange tales of European worth. 

Told us of Britons, men supremely brave, 
The great unrival'd sov 'reigns of the wave : 
The firm supporters of true freedom's cause, 
The steady guardians of unrival'd laws : 



167 

Staunch to their king, and faithful to the state, 

Most leam'd, ingenious, civili/Al and gn t, 

With all superior blessings highly gnfc'd, 

Renown'd for genius, elegance, and taste : 

Of* all well-govern 'd countries still the best, 

More mighty, wise and just than all the rest. 

While thus he sung the matchless nation's praise, 

W ith joy I listen'd to his tuneful lays. 

Ah ! could I deem a man so deeply taught, 

So grae'd with talents, with such knowledge fraught— 

Ah ! could I deem a man, who nobly stood 

The bold encomiast of all moral good ; 

This tender bard, so eloquently warm, 

Who warn'd the profligate, and cry'd Reform! 

Ah ! could I deem a moralist so nice, 

The first vile partizan of hell-born vice ? 

Alas ! ev'n Vice may stand forth Virtue's friend, 

And Guilt the cause of Innocence defend : 

Anthems to Heav'n a villain's voice may raise, 

And fiends themselves may chaunt an angel's praise. 

With each high mark of public favour bless'd, 
Deem'd of all men the wisest and the best ; 
Two years he reign'd our judge, by all rever'd, 
When, sad to tell, the white man disappear'd. 
Lov'd as a friend, and as a kinsman dear, 
I mark'd his absence with a brother's fear : 
From wood to w r ood, from cave to cave I fled, 
And search'd each well-known haunt with secret dread* 
Sad as 1 stood upon the sea's steep shore, 
Plaintive methought the waves appear'd to roar; 
And as the breeze came sighing o'er the main, 
It seem'd to whisper that my friend was slain. 



168 

Now in the woods methought his corse was found, 

A prey to monsters, gor'd with many a wound 7 

Now saw the tiger floating on his blood, 

And now beheld him sinking in the flood* 

No more, alas ! to hope I dar'd pretend, 

I felt that death had robbM me of my friend* 

O in what tuneful tenderness of lays, 

In what pathetic melody of phrase, 

Shall I a sister's agonies disclose, 

And paint the madness of a lover's woes ? 

Can a rude black to plaintive strains impart 

The most refin'd sensations of the heart ? 

Can slaves that language of persuasion speak, 

That hunts health's crimson from the tear-bathM cheek* 

Gives energy to weakness, daunts the bold, 

Makes lust's hot blood thro' ev'ry vein run cold ; 

Bids the frore Stagirite with fierce love glow, 

Bids fell revenge his murd'rous aim forego; 

Bids feeling's votaries with pity bleed, 

Start as they hear, and tremble as they read; 

Till all infected by the wretch's moan, 

With him they wring their hands, with him they groa* f 

Beat their sad bosoms, madly rend their hair, 

And faint in extasies too great to bear } 

What am'rous poet e'er with truth display'd 

The tender conflicts of the love-lorn maid ? 

Vain is the wish to see such woes express'd. 

Or paint a heart thus tenderly distressed! 

When to despair the wretch resigns her soul, 

Vain the fond hope such anguish to console. 

Sorrow so keen admits no prompt relief, 

Reason's chill precepts mock the voice of grief 1 



109 

Ev'n friendship's solace with disgust she heart, 
And flies to darkness, solitude, and tears. 

With mutual grief our guest we long deplor'd, 
Esteem'd by friendship, and by love ador'd : 
Then to his mem'ry rais'd a costly tomb, 
Where maay a spice diffusM a rich perfume ; 
Where talmi and laurels form'd a grateful shade ; 
Where the best flow'rs their liveliest tints display'd, 
Where the best fruits in rich ripe clusters hung, 
And the best birds their plaintive dirges sung, 
A; titt still midnight hour I sought his bier, 
And shed, unseen, a. tributary tear; 
Not such as oft at Europe's fuu'ral show, 
Down thy false cheeks dissimulation flow; 
But such as warriors scorn not long to shed, 
In grateful recollection of the dead. 
Such were the honours to the white man paid, 
Thus was our pure and artless grief display 'd, 
When fatal chance ! sad providence for me ! 
One beauteous morn, while gating on the sea, 
Far as my eye could reach, I spied a sail 
That lightly skimm'd before a prosp'rons gale" : 
Plain and more plain at length the ship appear'd, 
And to the harbour's mourn her passage steer'd. 
So swift she sail'd, I scarce the shore could reach 
Ere her white pinnace landed on the beach ; 
And I beheld, with equal grief and dread, 
Whom fancy deemM a spectre of the dead : 
I saw the iong-lost Osmond safely land, 
Quick thro' the crowd he rush'd, and grasp'd my 

hand : 
Yet such my wonder, such my wild delight, 
I scarce could trust the evidence of sight. 



170 

But soon my doubts and terrors he reliev'd, 

And with an artful tale my mind deceiv'd. 

" O friend 1" he cried, " to whom my life I owe 4 

** Whose gen'rous heart was melted at my woe ! 

* c Who in the hour of sorrow and despair, 

* 6 Reliev'd my sufferings with a brother's care; 

* ' In whose dear converse all my days were spent 

" In festive gaiety, and calm content. 

" In those lov'd vales, the themes of mutual praise, 

" Scenes where in peace I hop'd to pass my days. 

*< O friend ! your heart in sympathy would melt, 

€i Could I describe the anguish mine has felt, 

■* Lest my long absence from this happy clime 

" Should brand me with the semblance of a crime— 

■' Ah me ! ingratitude ! of crimes the worst ! 

ie A sin by me most fear'd, most loath' d, most curs'd ! 

** But know, compell'd in bondage to depart, 

<f I left your country with a sorrowing heart. 

M With wonder hear me now the cause relate, 

•' And mark the strange vicissitudes of fate. 

" O'er yon blue mountain, where the palm-trees wave, 

" Deep in a wood I found a secret cave, 

** Near whose romantic mouth I form'd a bow'r, 

" Fenc'd with thick shrubs, and grac'd with many a 

flow'r : 
46 In this serene and beautiful retreat, 
<c I oft sought refuge from the sun's fierce heat ; 
S( And in the calm of solitude reclin'd, 
c * Indulg'd the pleasures of a pensive mind. 
** One eve as thus on past events 1 mus'd, 
" And mem'ry's records thoughtfully perus'd, 
" A sudden horrid tumult met my ear, 
" And a fierce groupe of cannibals drew near : 




171 

Ci Soon as they markM the colour of my skin, 

94 They shook their clubs, and yell'd a horrid din; 

*' Their chief a bow-string twisted round my throat, 

M And dragged me down in triumph to his boat. 

<c In vain I su'd for mercy on my knee, 

* 6 Deaf to my cries, they quickly put to sea. 

u In fear's cold agonies I pass'd the night, 

u But hope soon cheer'd me at the dawn of light ; 

" For close aboard a lofty ship I spied, 

u Whose British ensign wav'd with conscious pride : 

u Thus, in the hour of danger and despair, 

" Heav'n sent relief responsive to mypray'r. 

u That life you thrice preservM, was sav'd again ; 

" And soon they bore me to my native plain. 

M But in that country, once belov'd so well, 

u I vainly sought in happiness to dwell : 

*• For there my widow' d heart in sadness bore, 

€t The thought of her I tenderly adore, 

u Nurs'd in despair the most refln'd desires, 

44 And pin'd the slave of unrequited fires. 

44 True to the worth that first inspir'd my flame, 

44 Your sister's hand 1 now return to claim : 

44 For this I bade my native land adieu, 

a And came in love and peace to dwell with you." 

Thus did the wretch a specious tale recite, 
That fill'd my breast with wonder and delight. 
I deem'd his honour as mjown secure, 
His heart as grateful, and his thoughts as pure. 
Is there another villain so compleat 
In all the ways of malice and deceit? 
Another monster, who with equal ease 
Can practise arts to flatter and to please ? 



172 

Ah, no ! there lives not of the human race 

Another wretch so infinitely base ! 

Poor are the chronicles of former times, 

His guilt stands single — matchless are his crimes. 

Past the capricious hour of virgin pride, 

No more my sister now her love deny'd : 

Osmond with warmth embrac'd the feeling maid, 

With well-fcign'd tenderness her joy repaid ; 

While she more delicate delights express'd, 

And bath'd with tears of love the villain's breast. 

Enraptur'd at the sight their hands I join'd, 

And Love's uniting compact gladly sign'd : 

fi Take, dearest Osmond !' ' to the wretch I said — 

w Take from these hands a good and virtuous maid ; 

" This last best mark of friendship now be mine, 

4< The richest gift I have to give is thine.'* 

In no dull forms of law the day was spent, 

The lover knelt, the virgin smil'd assent ; 

The priest perform'dthe matrimonial rite, 

And all our joys were perfect on that night. 

But, O ! how short such bliss is doom'd to last ! 

How soon, alas ! is Pleasure's dawn o'ercast ! 

Ye glowing visions of supreme delight ! 

Ye scenes so dear to sentimental sight ! 

Like the sky's pictur'd clouds ye pass away, 

More fleet than dreams that shun the rising day : 

Vain youth's warm hope, and vain the gay desires 

That Fancy fosters, and that Love inspires ; 

Short is i 1 Tuition's fascinating reign, 

And hours of bliss conclude in years of pain ! 

'Twas on a night, as in my peaceful cot 

1 mus'd on all the comforts of my lot : 



173 

4i Happy arc they,' * I cried, " who live like me, 

4i From care, from penury, and sickness free ! 
44 Myriads of wretches groan, with ills oppress'd, 
" Whilst I with life's best luxuries am bless'd. 
fl Ah ! when I think what complicated woes 
u Deprive my fellow-creatures of repose, 
u My conscious heart with gratitude declares 
u How far my benefits outnumber theirs ! M 
My bliss I then so exquisitely felt, 
That on the earth with reverence I knelt ; 
And as with piety my bosom burn'd, 
To Heav'n I fervently my thanks return'd. 
While thus entranced with pleasure on my knees, 
My heart indulg'd these blissful reveries; 
Struck with a near approach of loud alarms, 
In haste I rose, and flew to reach my arms : 
When Osmond, followM by a ruffian band, 
With each a blood-stain' d weapon in his hand, 
Enter M my hut by force, and sneering cried, 
" I come with friendly greetings from my bride : 
" To yon gay ship, in festive triumph led, 
" For her lov'd lord she decks the nuptial bed ; 
" Spreads a rich banquet to regale her friends, 
" And to your spouse an invitation sends. 
" Mark my dear sister, view that form so fine, 
" See with what grace her beauteous arms recline ! 
" How meek ! how chaste ! how innocent she seems ! 
" Mark how she smiles !— of happiness she dreams 1 
«< Sweet yEthiop, rouze thee from that peaceful rest— 
" Arise, and clothe thee in thy richest vest ; 
<c Bring all thy costly gems the feast to grace — 
<J Ho ! comrades, round her wrists your bracelets place : 

i 



174 

Ki Quick, seize your victims — we've no time to spare, 

" The ship is loaded, and the gale blows fair." 

My limbs all shook, convuls'd with sudden fears, 

My ej'es distill'd involuntary tears ; 

My prescient bosom throbb'd with wild dismay, 

I saw the wolves that mark'd us for their prey. 

Helpless I stood, confounded and appall'd, 

In vain my kneeling wife for succour calPd ; 

Dumb horror chain' d my tongue — in vain I tried 

To supplicate their mercy for my bride : 

While helpless thus I stood, depriv'd of speech, 

My arms they bound, and dragg'd me to the beach. 

As on my home I fix'd my last sad gaze, 

I saw the town involv'd in gen'ral blaze ; 

I heard loud shrieks of agonizing grief, 

I saw the limbs of man} r a slaughter 'd chief; 

Saw the dear forms of those who gave me birth, 

Cover 'd with wounds, stretch'd lifeless on the earth. 

Glutted at length with Desolation's toil 

The fiends return 'd, and groan 'd beneath their spoil : 

To their fell ship a num'rous train were brought 

Of those who valiantly for freedom fought. 

But what avail the brave man's open means, 

Oppos'd to Murder's most refin'd machines, 

And each ingenious treacherous resource, 

That foils the courage of superior force ; 

Enables men their brethren to enslave, 

And bids ev'n cowards triumph o'er the brave ? 

In this base conflict nlany a a hero bled, 

And many a friend I number d with the dead : 

My valiant brother laid among the rest, 

His life-blood streaming from his wounded breast ; 



17 3 

u Ah, live I" he cried — " my injur M brother live ! 
u But e'er my eyes are closM this comfort give ; 
u O ! pledge thy sacred promise ere we pan — 
u Swear by the honour of a black man's heart, 
*' Nobly to rise, and with a warrior's might 
*' To hurl destruction on that tveach'rous White : 
•* Let not that worse than fiend in human shape— 
M Let not that murd'rer from your wrath escape ; 
*' Secret he stabb'd this breast — yet marks with pain 
M A death that robs him of a promis'd gain. 
" Revenge our wrongs ! be this my latest crv — 
" Revenue our wrongs | and learn like me to die !" 
While thus th' intrepid dying warrior spoke, 
Fir'd with resistless rage my bonds I broke ; 
Accus'd the murd'rer, challenged him aloud, 
And rushing boldly thro' th* astonish'd crowd, 
Seiz'd the fell victim, smote him to the deck, 
And stamp'd my foot triumphant on his neck. 
Long time his myrmidons I madly brav'd, 
Scarce from my vengeance was the coward sav'd : 
But, O ! alas ! too num'rous were my foes, 
I sunk o'erpowVd by base unmanly biows. 
Quick round each limb they bound a galling chain, 
And scourg'd me — but I bore it with disdain, 
Cheer'd by such fortitude, Huasco cried, 
c Thus let us bear our wrongs with virtuous pride : 
' The villains sin to Vice's last excess, 
£ Our wrongs are endless, and beyond redress : 
4 They beat and plunder us with brutal force, 
6 Rob us of liberty without remorse ; 
* They tear us from the bosoms of our wives, 
4 Nought but their av'rice bids them spare our lives: 
i 2 



175 

" But still 'tis ours base bondage to refuse — * 

" Still we may baulk. the fiends' inhuman views : 

M Learn, injur'd brethren ! — learn that way from me!'* 

He said — and headlong plung'd into the sea. 

This last sad sacrifice to Freedom's cause 

Was crown 'd with shouts of generous applause ; 

And many a youth who scorn' d to live a slave 

Indignant rose, and plung'd into the wave. 

The sordid Whites, confounded and dismay 'd 

To lose the profits of their Hell-born trade, 

Dispatch 'd their boats, and flew in haste to seize 

Such as still liv'd, and floated on the seas. 

Heav'ns ! what a scene of horror then ensu'd ! 

Fishes of prey the Blacks in shoals pursu'd. 

! how my tortur'd soul the sight o'erpow'r'd ! 

1 saw my friends by rav'nous sharks devour 'd ; 
I heard their dying shrieks, and saw the flood 
Strew 'd with their mangled forms, and ting'd with 

blood ! 
Meantime the Whites appear'd humanely brave, 
Struo-crling each maim'd and drowning wretch to save* 
Inhuman, false, and selfish as they were, 
Gold was the only motive of their care : 
For tfold they kept the rav'nous sharks at bay, 
And robb'd the finny monsters of their prey : 
For gold, with feign' d compassion staunch' d each 

wound, 
And labour'd to re-animate the drown' d. 
Thus may th' insatiate policy of gain 
Make Hell-born cruelties appear humane. 
But unavailing prov'd their selfish greed, 
For death the victims all from bondage freed. 



177 

Lock'd in a loathsome den, and strongly chain'J, 
Two dreadful months of torture I sustained : 

Torn from the hist dear objects of my love, 
In vain to learn their destiny I strove ; 
In vain to move their callous hearts I tried, 
And urg'd the restoration of my bride ; 
Th' inhuman Osmond triumphed in my pain, 
And heard my frantic sorrows with disdain; 
Tho' to his heart I urg'd each tender claim, 
And cried for mercy in a sister's name : 
Alas ! that sister, whose transcendent worth 
I priz'd so far beyond the ties of birth — 
That friend and sister was no longer near, 
With soothing eloquence my heart to cheer. 
Ah ! what is now thy lot I dread to know, 
Thou injur'd dear partaker of my woe ! 
Art thou, like me, compell'd to drudge and toil, 
Doom'd like the brutes to cultivate the soil ? 
Is that fine form, of such unrivall'd grace, 
DoomM to sustain a servitude so base ; 
Doom'd like a brute in markets to be sold, 
And giv'n in barter for some villain's gold ? 
Art thou, like me, a poor degraded slave, 
Or hast thou sought a refuge in the grave ? 

o o o 

My tortur'd fancy, urg'd to wild extremes, 
Still makes thy fate the subject of my dreams : 
Mcthinks I see thee weep, and hear thee groan, 
Curs' d with a lot more wretched than my own ! 
Methinks I see thee, once so pure and chaste, 
Now mean, deprav'd, abandon'd, and disgrae'd I 
Ye phantoms that disturb the night's calm joy 1 
Ye dreams that Sleep's best benefits destroy ! 
i I 



178 

No more to Fancy's view these visions raise, 

That make my nights more wretched than my days ! 

! let me taste the blessings of repose ! 
Grant me this sad short respite from my wees ! 
-And when in weariness I seek my bed. 

Give me the silent slumbers of the dead ! 
For now in restless dreams I pass the night, 
Visions of horror gleam before my sight : 

1 see the wretch, who knelt with base deceit 
In abject suppliance to kiss my feet ; 

The shipwreck'd wretch the lion flew to seize, 

Who sought deiiv'rance on his bended knees- 

The wretch, who found the gen'rous help he crav'd, 

Whose life I three times mercifully sav'd— 

The wretch I cherish' d as my dearest friend, 

Lov'd without bounds, and honour' d without end— • 

He who eternal gratitude profess' d, 

And plung'd his dagger in my brother's breast : 

I see this fiend, above all others curs'd, 

Of all bad men the cruellest and worst ; 

Who with a smile his dearest friends betray'd, 

And ev'ry good with ev'ry ill repaid— 

I hear him vaunt his crimes, applaud his stealth, 

And boast th' inhuman sources of his wealth. 

Now o'er my brother's corpse I see him stand, 

The blood-stain' d knife still reeking in his hand ; 

While from the flood in sombrous groupes ascend, 

The mangled forms of many a drowned friend. 

Now with strong cords my pinion 'd arms are tied, 

And to my back I feel the scourge applied : 

Th' ideal stripes with anguish I sustain, 

And wake in agonies of real pain. 



179 

Again I sleep, again the fiend appear.-, 
.And mocks my sorrow with malicious jeers : 
Insulting, loads me with the worst disgrace, 
Calls me a slave, and spits upon my face. 
In vain my breast with indignation glow, 
With shame, I feel his unresented blows : 
For when 1 seek revenge, my limbs seem bound, 
And chainM with massy fetters to the ground. 
Next I with agony the wretch behold, 
Around my bride's lov'd form his arms enfold : 
I hear that wife (a faithless wanton grown) 
Accept his vows of love, and pledge her own : 
Pleas'd with his loathsome homage, lewdly smile, 
And yield the ready victim of his guile : 
See her th' apostate partner of his crimes, 
Embrace the guilt of European climes : 
See her with lust's last infamy possessed, 
Clasp hell's worst fiend to her dishonourM breast. 
Departed worth ! such sland'rous thoughts forgive, 
Thine was the scorn with infamy to live. 
Chaste and untainted was the last pure breath, 
That worshipp'd honour at the shrine of death : 
For when the daemon strove, supremely base, 
With brutal force to perfect thy disgrace, 
Thy poniard baulk'd the fiend's adulterous aim, 
And wrote in blood the triumphs of thy fame. 
Chaste spirit ! O if now, my guardian saint, 
Thou view'st my care-worn form, and hear'st my plaint, 
Let this deep sigh, this bosom-rending groan, 
The frenzied errors of such dreams atone. 
Yes, I conjure thee by these burning tears, 
Forgive the madness that inspir'd such fears, 
I 4 



180 

Ah ! could I hope that still my pray'rs you hear* 
That to thy shade my raem-'ry still is dear, 
'Twould sooth the griefs that agonize my breast. 
Still should I triumph, still should I he blest ! 
Benignant spirit, quit the realms above, 
Descend, and listen to these lays of love : 
O hover round me, while I fondly raise 
A voice that grows harmonious in thy praise : 
My plaintive Muse thy merit shall rehearse, 
In all the tuneful eloquence of verse ; 
And for my sufferings seek this dear reward, 
In deathless strains thy virtues to record* 

ever honour' d, cherish'd and ador'd, 
How in my mem'ry all thy ways are stor'd : 
Ev'n now, methinks, with rapture I behold 
The first fond smile that mutual love foretold : 
Ev'n now, enraptur'd with delirious bliss, 

1 taste upon my lips thy first warm kiss. 
Still thy fine form is present to my sight, 
And wakes each sense of delicate delight. 
My heart the same fierce energy preserves 
That love first taught to tremble o'er its nerves. 
The same voluptuous extasy retains, 

And still, wild tumult throbs in all its veins. 

But ah ! my grief is as my love sincere ! 

As full, as fresh, as ardent, as sincere ! 

Here let me pause again to weep and sigh, 

Again my big heart swells, my blood runs high : 

Again the ardour of revenge returns, 

And all my breast with indignation burns. 

Yet why in frenzied grief should I declaim, 

Of wrongs so dire, and crimes that want a name ? 



181 

How long, alas ! shall mem'ry's stores retain 

Thoughts that to madness agonize the brain ? 

How long shall fancy's busy sprites prepare 

Those pictur'd scenes that renovate despair ? 

Hail, kind Oblivion, mis'ry's last best friend, 

If e'er to slaves thy benefits extend, 

Come with each art to banish grief and pain, 

And in my bosom fix thy blissful reign. 

And O thou nymph, by fancy's eye survey 'd, 

Enchanting, heav'n-born, visionary maid, 

Come smiling Hope, by Faith and Reason led, 

O'er life's dark scenes truth's sacred radiance shed ; 

With happier omens cheer my wretched breast, 

And yield a promise of eternal rest. 

Tho' here my suff' rings and my wrongs are great, 

Another world may yield a worthier fate ; 

Where all the horrors of this transient lot, 

And all my earth-born cares shall be forgot ; 

Where av'rice, pride, and cruelty no more 

With tides of blood shall wash the western shore ; 

Where slaves shall be to liberfv restor'd, 

Where fell destruction ne'er shall wave his sword ; 

Where Whites and Blacks from strife and war shall 

cease, 
And live in bonds of everlasting peace. 
Cheer'd by this glorious hope, my heart expands, 
I raise to Heav'n my supplicating hands, 
And pray to mercy's God, with pious zeal, 
That hence no wretch may prove the wrongs I fee!. 



i 5 



DIALOGUE IX. 

ON LEAVING SCHOOL. 



JULIA, CLARA, and STELLA, 

CLARA. 

feoME brooding cause of woe, with pain suppress'd, 
Preys on your heart, and labours in your breast : 
In vain you strive your feelings to conceal, 
Too well those plaintive looks your grief reveal. 

JULIA. 

I blush my secret sorrows to disclose, 
Vain is my grief, and selfish are my woes. 
Now oall'd far hence, in fashion's sphere to reign, 
The titled heiress of a rich domain : 
Tho' now decreed with extasy to prove, 
The fond caresses of parental love: 
Tho' sisters soon shall rush to your embrace, 
And bathe with tears of joy that beauteous face : 
Great as their claims appear, comparM to n: : ^e, 
To them my friend I mournfully resign. 
That friends so fond, so tried, are doom'd to part, 
Is felt with too much anguish at my heart ! 
I cannot bear without a selfish tear, 
A loss so great, a trial so severe ! 

CLARA. 

Cold is the heart that calir^.y can susta'n 
To lose a friend, or deem such sorrows vain i 
i 6 



184 

Long may my Julia's feeling breast be fraught 
With many a tender, many a gen'rous thought r 
May all that's just, compassionate and kind, 
Enlarge her heart, and elevate her mind. 

STELLA. 

Ye imps of care, who feed on beauty's bloom, 
Who lead pale Grief to her untimely tomb, 
Bid love-sick boys renounce life's dearest hopes, 
And turn gay girls to sentimental mopes : 
And thou, Despondence, fiend of downcast mien, 
Whose dark frown low'rs on Joy's most smiling scene* 
Avaunt far hence, with all your vapid crew, 
And Devils rob'd in garments of sky-blue. 
Come to that age, when rapturous to tell, 
At gay nineteen, we lose the name of girl, 
And first with blushing diffidence engage 
To play the woman on the world's great stage. 
Releas'd to-night from each despotic rule, 
That cramps the spirit of a girl at school, 
Our beauteous friend shall quit these gloomy walls, 
And fly where liberty and pleasure calls : 
Shall bid adieu to back-boards, pin-cloths, frocks, 
Dumb-bells, and dancing-masters ; rods and stocks, 
Absolv'd from all the tyrannies we feel 
In this old vile grammatical Bastile : 
In this no worthy cause of grief appears, 
ILconomise your sorrow, spare your tears, 
If you have sighs to breathe, and tears to vent, 
Weep, lovely Julia, to your heart's content. 
But let us mourn our own unhappy doom, 
Buried alive in this scholastic tomb : 



185 

Let us with sighs our own afflictions scan, 
Hid from society, and lost to man ! 

JULIA. 

Long may my friend (now call'd to rank and wealth) 
Taste the dear luxuries of peace and health : 
Yet be not vain, and arrogant when great, 
Nor slight the duties of an affluent state : 
Make it your first proud sense of heart-felt joy, 
A surplus of heav'n's bounties to employ 
In faithful acts of delegated trust, 
To help the worthy, to reward the just : 
Tenfold to recompence each gen'rous deed, 
And raise each wretch who sinks oppressed with need. 
For to the rich the privilege belongs 
To succour innocence oppress'd with wrongs ; 
Each child of worth to cherish and protect, 
And rescue modest merit from neglect. 
Yourself from pain and indigence secure, 
Pity the wants and sorrows of the poor ; 
Nor waste that wealth in riotous excess, 
Due to the famish'd offsprings of distress : 
Ne'er let their pray'rs be slighted or withstood, 
And make your life subservient to their good. 
Ah ! may'st thou, lov'd and honour'd, long remain 
The guardian genius of thy native plain ! 
I yield thee, Clara, to the sylvan shade, 
Oft by thy pencil faithfully display'd. 
Go seek, dear nymph, those scenes describ'd so well! 
Which mem'ry haunts, where fancy loves to dwell : 
Those scenes, by youth's first sportive feats endear* d, 
Where many a kindred object stands rever'd : 
And as they rise in memory's fond review, 
The most delicious joys of life renew. 



ISo 



CLARA* 



The village green, and ivy-mantled wall, 
All the gay sports of infancy recall : 
The broom-clad heath, the hermit's dreary cave, 
The rock-bound shore, the shipwreck'd lover's grave; 
The monarch oak, whose trunk no storms can bend. 
That upright emblem of a firm old friend : 
The lofty pine that scorns the humble vale, 
The love-lorn poplar sighing to the gale : 
The sportive vine, that thro' the lattice peeps, 
The plant that trembles, and the tree that weeps \ 
All big with anecdote, in turns unfold 
Records of past delights, and scenes of old, 

STELLA. 

Ye fair enthusiasts, spare these golden dreams 
Of meeds and mountains, fountains, groves, and 

streams : 
This rural life of innocence and peace, 
Wasted in nursing lambs, and breeding^ geese. 
Commit the treatment of the lame and hurt 
To some kind maid — too old to play the flirt. 
Leave her the children's scalded legs to cure, 
To feed the hungry, and to cloath the poor : 
Leave her their wounds to bind, and bones to mend,, 
A hopeless prude proves no bad sick man's friend. 
'Tis time for vou such duties to assume, 
When wrinkled, old, and ugly is your doom. 
Loose love's all-conq'ring banners to the wind, 
Those eyes were made to war with all mankind. 
Haste to exert the prowess of their charms, 
Shine forth all smiles, and raise the world in arms* 



187 

To thee, no sects their homage shall refuse, 
Turks, Quakers, Pagans, Catholics, and Jews : 
Atheists themselves shall p] tttate at thy shrine, 
And own thy beaut 7 speaks the hand divine : 
Misers with joy thy person to behold, 
Shall quit their hoards, and scorn their darling gold. 
What hosts of suitors hall to thee pretend ? 
What rival armies for thy hand contend? 
Soon shall you load with lovVs triumphant chains > 
Profound philosophers, and simple swains : 
Red-headed beaux, disguis'd in black perukes, 
Vain hump-back'd coxcombs, <^ay deceiving dukes : 
Prim powder'd placemen, democratic crops, 
Pedantic tutors, military fops : 
Voluptuous epicures, convivial wags, 
Idiots with coronets, and wits in rags : 
That lovely form shall challenge more renown,* 
Than him who won the world's imperial crown : 
With Alexander's conquests thine shall vie, 
And Caesar's sword shall yield to Clara's eye, 

CLARA. 

Enough, dear satyrist ! in pity cease, 
A mighty conq'ror humbly sues for peace : 
Tho' great, be merciful ; be kind, as fair, 
And learn with tenderness your friends to spare. 

STELLA. 

How great a triumph now may Clara boast, 
Vanquish'd, behold the governante host. 
No more on her the rod of pow'r descends, 
To her, no more despotic rule extends. 



188 

Alas ! while captives we remain immur'd 

In durance vile — too vile to be endur'd— 

A rich triumphal chariot and four 

Shall quickly hurl her from this dungeon's door: 

Not such as once the Greeks to battk led, 

Or dragg'd round Troy the bodies of the dead ; 

But such as rich young titled widows sport, 

To round Hyde Park, or grace a birth-day court* 

Ev'n now, methinks, I see my Clara ride 

In all the splendour of a royal bride, 

Drawn by six greys, amidst a murm'ring crowd, 

Who gaze in extasy, and praise aloud. 

Now in a curricle I see her plac'd, 

Driving some dashing belle of iirst-rate taste, 

As at her box-coat, grac'd with many a cape, 

The weakly-minded natives wond'ring gape. 

Swift up Pall-Mali the blood-mares gallop home, 

Splash' d to the ears with mud, and white with foam* 

Now at the opera I see her sit. 

The wonder and the idol of the pit : 

See her, where'er she goes, (in envy's spite) 

The theme of admiration and delight. 

There lives, perchance, some old ambitious fool. 

Who vainly hopes the captive town to rule ; 

But soon the wrinkled hag the palm shall yield, 

When beauty, youth, and Clara take the field.. 

The beaux shall soon desert her, one and all, 

To greet thee, Clara, sov'reign of the ball. 

Your brilliant fetes, so fashionably gay, 

Shall steal the audience from her private play ; 

Rout all her routes, her concerts disconcert. 

And leave her by herself to play the flirt* 



189 

For who, when Taste invites, would fail to quit 
The seat of Dulness, for the court of Wit ? 

CLARA. 

O ! ever shield me from the noisy crowd, 
Where Riot raves, and Folly laughs aloud ; 
Where, whirled in Dissipation's giddy round, 
All the base partisans of Vice are found ; 
Where the worst crimes triumphantly preside— 
Lust, Falsehood, Av'rice, Trcach'ry, Fraud, and Pride ; 
Where stern Ambition frowns, where Envy leers, 
Where Scandal whispers, and Detraction sneers : 
Long may I live remote from scenes like these, 
In humble quiet and domestic ease ; 
Blest with the friendship of a chosen few, 
Generous, my Julia, and sincere as you ; 
In whose instructive converse I may find 
Enjoyments worthy of a feeling mind ; 
By whose examples I my soul may raise 
To deeds that Candour ne'er shall blush to praise-^ 
That lead to triumphs won in Virtue's cause, 
And all that conscience crowns with self-applause. 

JULIA. 

Be all your hopes with full fruition blest ! 
May Disappointment's stings ne'er wound your breast ! 
Accept these pray'rs — these selfish tears forgive, 
And let me still in your remembrance live. 

CLARA. 

Can time or space depreciate worth like thine? 
Can absence change a love so fix'd as mine ? 



190 

To yield fresh proofs shall prove my greatest pride, 
And Death alone our friendship shall divide* 

STELLA. 
Beautiful Clara, when I thee forget, 
May I be deem'd an ignorant coquette ! 
May I be doom'd at school my life to waste, 
Remote from scenes of elegance and taste; 
Till age and corpulence these limbs disgrace, 
And men without emotion view this face I 

JULIA. 

As plighted gifts like deputies appear 
To represent the friends we hold most dear, 
Let us to sanctify the vows of youth 
Exchange some sacred pledge of love and truth, 

CLARA. 

Ere that kind wish was urg'd, my tongue was 
fraught, 
At the same time, to speak the self-same thought. 
A bird I have, an object of delight, 
Whose soft sleek plumes display the purest white; 
The dear familiar loves to be caress'd, 
And oft, while fondly to my bosom press' d, 
Playfully sports, and, all affection, dips 
His beak with fond intrusion in my lips : 
From Asia's shores the captive beauty came, 
And oft with plaintive voice repeats my name. 
To thy kind cares this fav'rite I resign — 
This mueh-lov'd pet, my Julia, shall be thine. 

JULIA. 

A harp is mine, from whose harmonious string* 
Th' impassion'd eloquence of music springs; 



191 

Touch M with nice skill, each dying chord inspires 
Voluptuous feelings, and reiin'd desires. 
To strains of love thy hand this harp shall tune- 
Accept this gift, 'tis Friendship's sacred boon. 

STELLA. 

Fond as the bird of tenderness and peace, 
A dog I have, and silver is his fleece ; 
Full waves his mane, and bushy is his tail, 
He seems a lion on a pigmy scale ; 
Fierce in his form, but temper'd like a lamb, 
Playful as kids that sport around their dam : 
O ! take ill pledge from me this playful elf, 
Mild, tender, fond, and faithful as yourself. 

CLARA. 

In change, dear Stella, for this beauteous pet, 
Accept my books, a well-selected set ; 
With knowledge stor'd, with Virtue's precepts grae'd, 
Replete with humour, genius, wit, and taste : 
With such associates bless' d, my friend shall find 
A never- failing banquet for the mind ; 
From whose rich feast unpall'd each day she'll rise 
More gay, more just, more happy, and more wise. 
But, lo ! the coach is come, loud rings the bell— 
Ye dear companions of my youth, farewell ! 

JULIA. 

Ah ! must I sadly, tenderly take leave ! 
Then mix'd with tears this fond embrace receive ; 
Return with equal warmth this kiss of love, 
The last, alas ! these lips shall ever prove, 



192 

CLARA. 

Perish, my friend, that fear ! and think by this, 
A later, closer, and a warmer kiss, 
That ere the sun completes his annual race 
These arms shall fold thee in a fond embrace ; 
Each social pleasure then shall be renew'd, 
And death alone our friendship shall conclude* 



TO THE 

MEMORY 

OF 

LORD ANDOVER.* 



Ah ! see the woe-worn form, 
Who roams round yonder tomb ; 

In a loud midnight storm, 
Lamenting Howard's doom. 

Now in an extasy of speechless woe 

The melancholy maniac musing stands ; 
He breathes no sigh, his tears forget to flow, 
And piously to Heav'n he lifts his hands. 
Now starting from his trance, 

The wretch begins to rave, 
And bursting into tears, 

Falls prostrate on the grave : 
He shrieks in wild despair, 

He tears his blood-stain'd vest; 
He madly rends his hair, 
And bea f s his naked breast. 

* For an affecting account of this Nobl man's death, whs 
was accidentally shot by his servant, vine Dr. Bisset's 
Historical, Biographical, Literary, and Scieiviric Magazine 
for February i£oo. 



194 

€( O Earth ! conceal my crime !" the maniac cries— 

" W here can a murd'rer hide his guilty head ? 
*' See, yonder, where my dying master lies ! 

%t O Earth ! conceal the blood these hands have shed ! 
" O ! say that still he blooms 
" In all the pride of youth ! 
" O ! say that still he lives— 
" And hide the fatal truth ! 
t( Cruel illusion ! — flatt'rer ! cease, 

" By me his blood was spilt : 
" A murd'rer' s conscience knows no peace. 
" No grave can hide my guilt ! 

* ( I saw him fall — I saw his mangled form — 

" Saw him with torture writhing on the ground ! 
** Ev'n now a torrent of his blood runs warm, 

M And burns the guilty hand that gave the wound. 
" I heard his last sad sighs— 

" Still, still they pierce my ears : 
u I clos'd his dying eyes, 

" And bath'd his corpse with tears. 

*' Murder V y he loudly screams — the dreadful thought 
With Horror's deadliest pang his soul appals; 

In ev'ry vein his curd'ling blood congeals, 
And senseless on the grave he fainting falls. 

O ! if your bosoms feel the genuine glow 
That inbred mercy to the soul imparts ; 

If e'er your breasts were touch' d with human woe— 
If ever Pity triumph' d in your hearts — 

Haste to dispel yon maniac's groundless fears ! 
By all the dearest ties of human kind ! 



198 

Proclaim li is innocence, restrain his tears, 

And soothe the madd'nin^ anguish of his mind ! 

Dread Providence! how awful are thy ways, 
By which upon our hearts you write this truth : 

That no man knows the number of his days, 
Or safely goes to bed in health and youth. 

How manifold the incidents! — how infinite the means 
Which Heav'n has allotted to bring about our doom ! 

How multiplied are Life's last melancholy scenes! 
How numberless the paths which lead us to the 
tomb. 

Some are cut off by sorrows, some by joys — 

Nay, hate itself might save when love destroys : 

Too eft the mother's part is overdone, 

And with excess of love she kills her son. 

A sudden fit of mania may possess 

The faithful dog we tenderly caress, 

A mortal bite unconscious to inflict 

Upon that hand which late he fondly lick'd ; 

The trusty servant, who would gladly brave 

Danger's worst storms his master's life to save, 

The heaviest lot of Destiny may fill, 

And by some dire mischance that master kill. 

Alas ! the gen'rous friend who loves us best 

May plunge a murd'rous poniard in our breast ! 

How vain the hope, by Reason's narrow plan, 

" To judge the ways of Providence to man !" 

The lot of life which Heav'n to man bestows 

Is rife with changes, and replete with woes : 

111 suits the soil of this ungenial earth 

To Justice, Merit, Innocence, and Worth. 



190 

They who in gen'rous deeds the most delight s 
Who sacred hold each good and social rite — 
They who of worth the noblest promise give, 
And long in happiness deserve to live, 
Too oft their days in grief obscurely spend, 
Struggle w T ithwant, and die without a friend. 
Sometimes the man of worth appears to meet 
A lot with Life's best luxuries replete : 
In the high festival of youthful joy, 
Pleasure's fine bloom the worms of Care destroy; 
Scarce he the nectar of Enjoyment sips, 
The cup is barely lifted to his lips, 
When dash'd it falls by Death's remorseless rage, 
And the good Roscius hurries off the stage : 
While long on earth the vilest actors stay, 
The most ignoble scenes of vice to play. 
Thus many a gen'rous Howard dies at ten, 
While Neros and Domitians grow up men. 
Misers grow grey in ev'ry selfish sin, 
Disown 'd with blushes by their nearest kin ; 
Wretches ! Creation's most complete disgrace, 
The odium and the scourge of all their race, 
Who ne'er reliev'd a friend oppress' d with need— . 
Who ne'er perform'd one just or gen'rous deed — - 
Who live the enemies of all mankind, 
And when they perish, leave no friend behind. 
How sad the thought, detested thus to fall, 
Unmourn'd, unpity'd, unbelov'd by all ! 
Not such is Howard's all lamented fate — 
Born to be noble, affluent, and great ; 
Bless'd with a heart compassionate and kind, 
A feeling, elegant, accomplish 'd mind, 



197 

Which many a good propensity inform' 3, 

And many a gen'rous social virtue warm'd ; 

He knew the duties of a man to fill, 

And held the povv'r united to the will. 

O ! rare the prodigy, to see combined 

A liberal fortune with a gen'rous mind ! 

O ! melancholy thought ! so soon to lose 

A good man bless' d with such exalted views ! 

Well may the poor unfeignedly bemoan 

A man who liv'd not for nimself alone I 

Well may the world a virtuous man deplore, 

So few the good, we feel their loss the more ! 

Hard is the lot with those we love to part ! 

We meet their fun'rals with an aching heart ; 

Record their excellence with many a sigh, 

And read their tomb-stones with a weeping eye : 

But, O ! how impotent the tears we shed ! 

Alas ! how vain our pity for the dead ! 

Tho 1 many a tender sympathetic friend 

Lives to lament his melancholy end ; 

E'en now, methinks, enshrin'd in yonder skies, 

Howard with wonder listens to their sighs • 

Hears with surprise his dearest friends lament, 

Reproves their grief, and chides their discontent. 

Why for the good and worthy should we grieve, 

When this base world triumphantly they leave, 

Translated to a more congenial sphere, 

Free from the miseries which vex us here ? 

A lot of full felicity is thine, 

Nor shall I, Howard ! at thy fate repine ; 

A tribute to thy worth I proudly give, 

But pity is reserved for those w r ho live. 

K 



198 

The fair companion of thy social hours, 

Who deck'd Love's couch with Pleasure's purest 

flow'rs ; 
Who with a cordial sympathy of heart 
In all thy feelings bore an equal part ; 
Who felt in the enjoyment of thy worth 
As much true bliss as Heav'n permits on earth : 
For her I mourn — for her my pity pleads, 
For her I weep — for her my bosom bleeds ! 



ADDRESS 

TO A 

CROOKED FLUTE. 

INSCRIBED TO AN AMIABLE PERSON, MUCH DEFORMED, 



3 Tis well, O tuneful Flute, 

Thou art not always mute ; 
For thou art such a stick, that, by Phoebus and his lyre ! 

No Bard would long demur 

Thy carcass to transfer 
To the cook, to be employ d as a faggot for his fire* 

Thou'rt crooked as a ram's horn, 

Thy aspect is most mean ; 
And sure thou art to raise scorn, 

When first thy shape is seen, 



199 

It is not for the binding that a scholar buys his books, 
Nor will an upright judge hang a culprit tor his looks ; 
Whatever ill impressions thy exterior may excite, 
Thy qualities, when known, astonish and delight!* 

Tho' no toad can look more odious, 
Thou'rt a nightingale complete ; 

Thy voice is as melodious, 
Thy language is as sweet. 

Sorrow's soft sympathies thy plaints impart, 

Awake the lover's soul to fond desire ; 
And in the sad enthusiast's feeling heart, 

A melancholy tenderness inspire* 

You breathe a sprightly strain, 
No more we weep and plain, 

Or sit profoundly sad ; 
But ravish'd by your gay airs, 
In spight of cares and grey hairs, 

Our heaits grow light and glad. 

Your Irish jigs so brisk 
Can make an old man frisk 

And caper like a lad ; 
But when you strike up Scotch reels, 
You banish gout and kibe-heels, 

And make us dance like mad. 

* From long exposure to the sun, this Flute had acquired! 
such a disgusting and deformed appearance, that the persaa 
to whom it belonged determined to burn it; but being in- 
duced by curiosity to try it, he found it the most excellent 
and fine -toned instrument he ever heard, 

k o 



200 

Such potent dominion no pow'r can withstand, 
Our feelings w^th witchcraft you sway : 

Both our bodies and minds, thus in turns you command, 
And, like slaves, all our passions obey. 

No rebels to taste your sovereign will dispute, 

Each mandate you sound with obedience is heard : 

In short, you're a tyrant as ugly and absolute, 

As bandy-legg'd crook-backed Richard the Third • 

Yet wail not at your lot — to be crooked is no shame— 
I trust it is no sin to be sickly, blind, or lame ; 
So heed not the reproaches and the laughter of the crowd, 
For wise and ugly better sounds, than silly, fair, and 
proud. 

Old zEsop, tho' so ugly and ignoble in his birth, 
Was a man of shining parts, sarcastic, shrewd, and 
droll ; 
Tho' poor and a slave, he was rich in wit and worth, 
And tho' his limbs were crooked, he was upright m 
his soul. 

He was much deform'd, no doubt, 
His breast-bone touch 1 d his chin ; 

His head was wrong xvif/ivut — 
But all was right within. 

Tho' Pope possessed a anguid, leeble, ill- proportion *d 
form, 
What captivating graces in his verses are displayed ! 
How vigorous his Muse ! — how eloquent !• — how warm ! 
What intellectual beauties in his writings are pour- 
tray' d! 



£01 

Tho' the poet \vc find 

A dwarf in his frame ; 
lie's a giant in mind, 

In genius, and fame. 

No longer, with a tear, 

Let crooked merit fear 
The critical reflections of the looking-glass to face; 

In the mirror of the mind, 

If virtuous, she shall find, 
A miracle of elegance ! — a paragon of grace ! 

Despond not at a fate, such worthies have possess'd, 
For ^Esops, Popes, and Strabos, your crookedness 
have shar'd ; 

Deformity's foul stamp on worth is oft impress'd, 
By Destiny's fell rod not Virtue's self is spar'd. 

Ugly Virtue, bear thy lot, 

Patient as the man of Uz, ! 
Never be this truth forgot, 

M Handsome is that handsome does !" 



TO A 

LADY-BIRD. 



JLittle Lady, fair and chaste, 

Whom Nature's hand hath made so fine S 
Trust me, I am not in haste 

So sweet a captive to resign, 
& 3 



Far from the rude controul of tyrant man, 
O'er the sky's azure deep you long to sail* 

To spread that pigmy pinion's silky fan, 

And court the kisses of the love-sick gale. 

Whither would you hurry sweeting, 
Is it to a merry meeting ? 
To some sociable party, 
Where each guest is gay and hearty ? 
Where no noisy scolds intrude, 
Faithless wives, and harlots lewd ; 
Proud coquettes, and jilting jades, 
Pert young shrews, and cross old maids ; 
Where no spleen-struck gossip labours 
To scandalize her friends and neighbours ; 
Where no rheumy churls debate 
On Pitt and Fox, or church and state ; 
Where no pedant tutors teach 
Syntax, and the parts of speech, 
Stun the party with their fool's-noise, 
And tell how oft they whip their school-boysj 
Where no coxcombs fresh from college 
(Plus conceit, and minus knowledge) 
In ev'ry science try to dabble, 
And tire us with their silly babble ; 
Where no Bond-street loungers loll, 
Chatting to some painted doll, 
Lifeless statues fit for shelves, 
Vain, and silly as themselves ; 
Where no fighting-cocks are pitted, 
Where no wagers are permitted ; 
Where no tabbies with quadrille, 
Gloomy winter-ev'nings kilL 



203 

Where games of hazard are regarded, 

A source of infinite vexation ; 
And cards are utterly discarded, 

As stumbling-blocks to conversation. 

Dear lady, when your elegant society is met, 

You are cramp'd by no starch forms, or haughty 
airs of quality ; 

Sincerity takes place of formal etiquette, 

And pomp submits to ease, festivity and jollity. 

Lady Bird, Lady Bird, bide in my hand, 
And do not thus threaten your wings to expand. 

The cause of your haste I discover, 
I know your impatience to meet 

Some little affectionate lover, 

Now waiting to fall at your feet. 

You will not his fondness despise, 

Contemptuously spurn him when kneeling, 

Make game f n j s tears and his si^hs, 
And cruelly sport with his feeling. 

Convinced of his honour and worth, 
You will not bamboozle or slight him, 

But cheer him with sallies of mirth, 
And labour with wit to delight him. 

Lady, modest, sprightly, pretty, 
Well accomplish' d, wise and witty, 
May your spouse-elect inherit 
Equal beauty, sense and merit. 

k4 



204 

How now. Lady ? — what 's the matter ? 

Lovely little unbeliever, 
Think not I design to flatter, 

Trust me, I'm no gay deceiver. 

I despise dissimulation, 

Tho' for candour Bards pay dearly , 
Big with honest indignation, 

What they think, they speak sincerely*. 

Lady, discard all groundless fear, 
Awhile your flight suspend ; 

To me your innocence is dear, 
In me, behold a friends 

To crush such harmless forms I deens 

A sin supremely base ; 
And feel the tenderest esteem 

For all thy beauteous race. 

Fancy to thee, ascribes a mind 
To match that pleasing form : 

A temper, feeling just and kind> 
Benevolent and warm. 

Those airs so decent, mild and meek* 
Thy modest thoughts ensure ; 

And all thy looks appear to speak 
A dialect as pure. 

Bid fashion's shameless minions learn to prize 
The decent neatness of that honour'd vest, 

That ne'er betrays to lust's insulting eyes, 
A base exposure of the naked breast. 



205 

Ye Flirts, from whom all virtuous pride is fled, 
Whom the last sense of modesty thus leaves ! 

If for our decent laws you felt no dread, 

Our public streets would soon be filPd with Urn, 

At the cart's tail ye cheerfully would strip, 
Could ye the pains of punishment escape ; 

Nay, some would brave the beadle and his whip, 
Before a mob to sport their beauteous shape : 

Or in the pillory thrust a willing hand, 

If naked, there they were allow d to stand. 

With care alone they cloath the Tarnish 'd face, 
In that, we ne'er the naked truth descry : 

Full many a coat ofj utige on that they place, 
And stick on many a patch to win the eye. 

Lady, on thee no artificial glow 

Hath the false hand ot affectation spread ; 

No black silk patches hath thy face to show, 
And honest bunajide is that red. 

Yet Lady, tho' you almost faint 
To think our Beiles thus patch and paint, 
Still hast thou many a beauty-spot 
Which they have not. 



K5 



£06 
A PROLOGUE 

WRITTEN AT THE RE-OPENING OF THE 

BOMBAY THEATRE, 

AND SPOKEN ON THAT OCCASION BY 

Mr. ANDERSON, of that settlement* 



Jl hanks to old Thespis, whose sarcastic rage 
Form'd the first embryo of the blooming stage; 
Whose attic wit devis'd a ready plan 
To show the varied character of man ; 
Follies and crimes in each disguise to trace, 
And make the mind familiar as the face. 
This the first scenic spark, whose glorious ray 
Now burns effulgent as the orb of day ; 
This first rude hint, aspiring Fancy caught, 
While Reason cherish'd, what her Genius taught* 
The mimic art applauding crowds admir'd, 
Manners improv'd, and life new taste acquir'd £ 
Detected \ ice her baneful form withdrew, 
And Virtue from her fall more virtuous grew. 
From Greece to Rome, the scenic furor came, 
Then British bosoms caught the gen'rous flame, 
There, the lov'd Muse her best asylum found, 
There, full success theatric talents crown'd; 
Perfection dawn'd, immortal fame arose, 
And Nature for her bard, our Shakespeare chose i 
In him complete, the huskin'd heroine smiTd, 
Eternal glory grac'd her fav'rite child » 



907 

Th' astonish'd world with boundless rapture gaz'd, 

Malice approv'd — and sick'ning Envy prais'd — 

Swept from his lyre the fond enchantment sped, 

And deep to British hearts for sanction fled. 

The stage, matur'd, in ev'ry clime appear'd, 

By genius nurtur'd, and by bounty rear'd : 

And here, with marks of striking merit grac'd, 

Stands a fair proof of Asiatic taste. 

Yet like a harp, which long untun'd has hung, 

The notes unsounded, and the chords unstrug, 

Neglected and unus'd this stage has stood, 

Forsaken — propp'd by nothing but its wood. 

Shall men of taste wit's choicest banquets lose, 

And shun the feasts of Satire and the Muse ? 

Each heart, each head, the virtuous scene improves, 

Wakes each keen sense, and each good feeling moves. 

Hence flow the noblest lessons of the mmd, 

At once instructive, moral and refln'd. 

Yet what you most admire you still decline, 

And to neglect your happiest gifts consign.* 

Oft modest worth from public effort flies, 

And timid Genius in concealment dies. 

But would ye have those sprigs of merit live ? 

Rouze emulation, good examples give. 

Let sluggish apathy resign her sway, 

And ardent zeal her fost'ring beams display. 

With joy to-night one happy chance we seize, 

And come possess' d with ev'ry wish to pleajse. 

* The Performers consisted of Gentlemen of tbe Settle- 
ment, conspicuous for dramatic talents, who from indolence 
long suffered the theatre to be shut up, 

k6 



208 

But should we fail in what we undertake, 
And lose that all, we venture For your sake % 
Grant us, at least, that credit for good-will, 
Which critic censure deems not to our skill ; 
Be just, with mercy; gentle, tho' sincere; 
'Twould surely be unjust to be severe, 
When Volunteers, unsummon'd by the drum* 
Devoted to your services we come. 



EPILOGUE 

SPOKEN ON THE SAME OCCASION* 

Bi/ MAJOR HAWKES, 

IN THE CHARACTER OF 

SHARP, in the LYING VALET, 



v/ hile Gayless and his guests regale on wine, 
And gorge like Poets who with Printers dine, 
Your half-starv'd slave, debarred from beef and grog 
Is sent to dish you up — an Epilogue. 
Compelled to rhyme, the kitchen I forsook, 
For lo ! the Muses tore me from the cook ! 
Tore me, per force, as round her neck 1 clung-, 
Singing the praises of a cold neat's tongue*. 
Cruel, alas ! of servants is the fate, 
Waiters, tho' hungry, still are doom'd to tvaif„ 
Valets, tho' starving, and half choak'd with thirst, 
Eie they dare eat, must feed their masters first.. 



200 

Thus etiquette decides in fashion's schools; 

But hungry men despise punctilious rules : 

So I on ceremony turn'd my back, 

And tho' I dar'd not sup — 1 took a snack. 

As on the sideboard I suney'd the meat, 

Temptation whisper'd, how's the time to eat : 

So straight I caught a salmon by the jowl, 

And tho' no shot, made shift to wing a fowl. 

Mark the starvation of this sharp-set face, 

Could such necessity lie to for grace ? 

Hunger, few laws but those of eating own, 

But none, where want comes clad with skin and bone> 

Of this sad evil you beheld a sample 

Here in your hungry servant for example : 

But as the Destinies decree at last, 

That I may rise each day to break my fast, 

From night till morn, on luxuries I'll feast, 

Vie with a city alderman at least ; 

Discard henceforth all puny fears of starving, 

And give my soul and body up to carving. 

Farley and Mrs. Glasse in turns shall vie 

An endless round of dainties to supply. 

Bacchus himself with wine my binns shall stock, 

I'll sport tokay, madeira, port and hock, 

Constantia, claret, burgundy, champaigne, 

All that can elegantly turn the brain, 

To wits give irony, to rakes lend spunk, 

And make a gentleman genteelly drunk. 

Since Gayless now can stop tne craving muns, 

Not only of his servants, but his dun*, 

'Tis time his valet should disclaim deceit, 

Renounce intrigue, and cease to play the cheat. 



810 

All hail, Sincerity! thou once. lovM guest, 

That want dislodg'd, and banish' d from my breast, 

Return, dear tenant, reassume thy post, 

And dwell for ever with thy grateful host, 

Who ne'er shall slight thy voice, desert thy cause, 

Or dare again to violate thy laws : 

What thanks to thee my grateful heart shall yield, 

O still remain my great iEgean shield, 

Protect me still from all the ills of life, 

Thou hast already sav'd me from a wife— 

When ask'd my hand on Kitty to bestow, 

Thy friendly council bade me answer — no ! 

O still defend me thus — still guard me free, 

I'll court no mistress, wed no spouse but thee. 

Ye letter'd sages, who supremely sit 

Judges of worth, and arbiters of wit, 

To you with conscious guilt I now must turn, 

And from your dread decree our sentence learn. 

What various forms to please you we assume, 

In what strange shapes await the critics' doom. 

For you to-night 1 wore this Sharper's guise, 

And told a thousand, but all friendly lies. 

Yea, as to be sincere is now the vogue, 

In plain sad truth, I own, I've play'd the rogue. 

But as I hope to misbehave no more, 

For all past faults your pardon I'll implore. 



LINES WRITTEN IN A CAVE. 

JL ield me, kind Hermit, in thy rocky cell, 
From life's tumultuous scenes a safe retreat; 

Long in this lone asylum let me dwell, 
And find a refuge from the world's deceit, 



211 

No tyrants here shall modest worth annoy, 

Here, wisdom's lore may zealously be sought; 

Here, Fancy's children, peacefully enjoy 
The waking dreams of visionary thought. 

I scorn Ambition's lure, and loath the strain 
By Dissipation's slaves, to Momus sung : 

I view Pride's bloated idol with disdain, 
And scorn the lisp of Affectation's tongue. 

And thou, pert Fashion, nymph of vacant face, 
Whom Folly's votaries so fondly prize, 

Thy specious airs, and artificial grace, 
An early instinct taught me to despise. 

J turn indignant from thy pageant shrine, 
And here, secluded from thy noisy throng. 

Forego all cares, and all mean joys resign, 
To wake the tribute of a humble song. 

Here feeling Bards, in many a plaintive theme, 
A love of justice, and of truth shall show; 

And oft Compassion's consecrated stream, 
To staunch the wounds of Misery shall flow. 

And here, the charms of Charity to sing, 

When Mercy's Muse her soothing voice shall raise, 

Then, generous Hermit,* shall a grateful string 
Be heard with melody to sound thy praise* 

For thou art wise, benignant, and humane, 
A great philanthropy informs thy mind : 

The poor, to thee, ne'er breathe their wants in vain, 
In thee, a father, and a friend they find. 

* The late Mr. Smith of Brighton, a man of eminent 
goodness and practical philanthropy. 



212 



HOW TO MAKE LOVE. 

JOon't be coy, Miss, but lend me an ear, 
Into which I shall whisper your praise ; 

For in truth, without blushes or tear 
You may listen awhile to my lays. 

You may hear what my Muse has to say, 
Tho' as nice as the most rigid prude ; 

And I, on St. Valentine's day, 

May berhyme you without seeming rude. 

With what rapture my charter I claim, 
For the licence to lovers is dear ; 

Yet alas ! 'tis of letters the shame, 
That it happens but once in the year. 

Yes, by Phoebus, dear madam, 'tis hard 
Lovers may not more frequently speak : 

If you won't have an ev'ry-cuiy Bard,. 
Let's be Poets at least once a week. 

Once a year! — Love revolts at the hint; 

Once a year ! — 'tis unkind, 'tis unfair : 
Who so meanly his passion would stint ?- 

By the Muses! not me, Miss, I swear. 

Thus it is tyrant custom maintains 

That on Shrove-Tu:sday pancakes must fry; 
And alone throughout Christmas ordains 

That Cocknies may feed on minc'd pie, 



913 

Thus, on Twelfth-nig hi alone, to eat cake, 

Prudes, and old maids, may throw off their pomp, 

And with gay lads and lasses partake 
The licence with freedom to romp. 

For then if their forfeits appear, 

They cannot be decently miss'd ; 
So in spite of their teeth, once a year 

They get accidentally kissed. 

All your nights shall be gay as Twelf. h-ere, 
You shall always eat cake, romp and dance; 

And the kisses you daily receive 
Shall never depend upon chance. 

I despise the poor time-serving bird, 
Who in winter his courtship resigns : 

Sure his music too seldom is heard, 

Who to Spring love's fond warbling confines, 

My sonatas of love shall last long, 

Ev'n in Autumn your praises I'll sing; 

Yea, all winter I'll tip you a song, 
As well as in Summer and Spring, 

Miss, your beauty surrounds me with chains, 
I am bound like the law's worst offenders : 

You have vanquish'd my pride, turn'd my brains, 
And my heart at discretion surrenders. 

Yet I will not for liberty sue, 

Nor lament love's tyrannic decree ; 
For in gaol, rest assur'd love, with you, 

I could make myself easy and free. 






214 

Then in durance your captive still keep, 
Let his hunger with fond hopes be fed ; 

Fegs, you could not maintain him so cheap. 
On his common allowance of bread. 

Five french rolls with incredible speed 
For his breakfast your slave can devour ; 

Times are hard, and on love he must feed, 
Till he once gets possess'd of your dow'r. 

If you'll take me to bed and to board, 
Roasted oxen for luncheons I'll give; 

For thanks to the old lady's hoard, 
On the fat of the land we may live. 

If I once fairly finger her wealth, 

You no longer shall pray you may sicJcen 4 ; 

For as oft as you choose, ev'n in health, 
You shall feed on the breast of a chicken.* 

Thus, dear maid, free from guile or reserve, 
The desires of my heart have been told : 

If your conquest you wish to preserve, 
Strike at once ere the iron gets cold. 

* Miss Patty having from hear-say discovered poultry to 
be a luxury, was solicitous to taste a bit of chicken ; but the 
Mother (an eminent miser) most thoroughly acquainted with 
her business, would never consent to such a piece of ruinous 
extravagance j which occasioned poor Patty to wish she might 
be taken sick, as she was sure the Doctor would order her a 
chicken : but though this young lady is an excellent mathe- 
matician, she on this occasion prov'd much out in her calcu- 
lation, for lo her prayer was heard, she was attacked with a 
desperate fit of sickness, yet the old woman permitted her to 
get well again the best way she could, and she was neither 
allowed a Doctor or a Chicken. 



215 

On no nice ceremonials 1 stand, 

But point-blank to the mavk boldly push ; 
Recollect, Miss, " one bird in the hand 

" Is better than two in the blish/' 

For those birds who in freedom their joy 
Proclaim from the boughs of the tree, 

May avoid Love's insidious decoy, 
Nor consent to be fetter' d like me. 



ELEGY. 



JlT ity the wretch, whom Fate ordains to feel 
The pangs of sickness, poverty, and care ; 

Who still is doom'd his sorrows to conceal, 
And live the secret victim of despair. 

Ah ! who can tell how wretched is the lot 

That waits the man to glorious prospects bred, 

When Youth's too sanguine hopes are all forgot, 
And Love's fond dreams of happiness are fled ? 

He treasures still in his too feeling mind 
A sad remembrance of that joyful day, 

When Fortune first, insidiously kind, 
To fame and honour smiling led the way. 

Then Comfort came in each indulgent form, 

Affection fram'd, Youth's little wants to quell ; 

And no desires that little bosoms warm 
Were left unratified their wants to tell. 



216 

Then new-born passions rising in the breast, 

A finer edge to keen sensation gave ; 
And many a sigh, and many a tear confess'd, 

The soul to love and tenderness a slave. 

Then Pity's eye beam'd Indignation's fire, 
As injur'd Virtue told her tale of woe ; 

And all the bosom heav'd with one desire 
On ev'ry wretch contentment to bestow. 

Th' enthusiast mourner now no more discerns 
A cause to weep for other wretches ills ; 

His breast a sense of its own mis'ry learns, 
And many a pang of selfish sorrow fills, 

Pity the man, whose sun-shine friends profess'd 
All that was gen'rous, faithful, and sincere ; 

Yet, when he sunk, with Life's worst ills oppress'd* 
Lent not one smile his wretchedness to cheer. 

Too well, O World ! I know thy treach'rous ways 1 
Still thy base hypocrites may fawn and feign ; 

My heart abhors them, and my pride repays 
Their false compassion with a true disdain. 



51? 
BURLESQUE PROLOGUE 

TO 

VENICE PRESERVED; 

Which Play was performed, alias burlesqued to full per- 
fection, by the Waiters, Cooks, Scullions, &c. of a 
Tavern, assisted by a Barber, Journeyman Taylor, and 
two Lads, one Appi entice to an Oilman, the other a 
Grocer. The Band two Blind Fidlers. 

SPOKEN BY JAFFIER. 



JJL e, who are met this night our Play to view, 
Behold the Roscius of the Pic-Nic crew! 
What ! no applause ! — no shouts when I appear ? 
Ladies and Gentlemen, behold Jaffier ! 
No candle-snuffing fag — no hack, I ween- 
In me behold the hero of the scene ! 
Still no applause ?— 'Sdeath ! let me have one ruff! 
So — better late than never. — * Hold — enough !" 
Enough, good friends 1 — Jaffier has gain'd his cause- 
Kindly reserve some handfuls of applause, 
To cheer our spirits when we act amiss, 
And angry critics just begin to hiss. 
Let me confess how much my comrades fear, 
This court assembled, and their trial near : 
They look like rogues about to breathe their last- 
All tremble, all turn pale, and stand aghast. 
Great is the task assign'd our buskin'd Muse- 
To make our audience feel what pangs we choose ; 



SIS 

Make them both sad and glad, they know not why*, 
Now laugh like men, and now like children cry. 
Ye sentimental tenants of the Pit, 
See that to-night no blunders ye commit ! 
Tun'd to strict sympathy your feelings keep, 
And, prithee, laugh not when ye ought to weep ! 
What fate decreed on laughter I should touch ? 
You'll laugh — my soul forbodes — you'll laugh too 

much ! 
Should we in vain to-night exert our skill, 
And fail your expectations to fulfil — 
If when the curtain drops )^ou damn our Play, 
Our money's lost, our labour thrown away ; 
For much of both this Pic-Nic feast has cost, 
And if we lose our fame, then all is lost. 
Great have our struggles been for ways and means, 
Candles cost something, faith ! as well as scenes ; 
On ready- money terms each dress was made, 
And ev'n our two blind fidlers must be paid. 

! I conjure ye, let no cat-call's rage 
Hunt our young Belvidera from the stage ; 
Timid and coy, she feels a sudden dread 
In buskin' d dignity these boards to tread. 
Lo i when I went to ask if she was dress'd, 
No Bess of Bedlam e'er seem'd more distress'd : 

1 found the nymph without or cap or gown, 
In one white stocking wand'ring up and down. 

I started; wrung my hands, and cried, " Alack ! 
u W hy is one leg still cas'd in worsted black ? 
(t What whim, dear wench, thy noddle can posses§ 
M Half-naked thus to stand? — 'tis time to dress ; 
rt Draw on this nose of silk, my darling, do ! 
u Kick off that slipper, love — put on this shoe. 



€< Why, Belvidera, dost thou sigh and mourn ? 
u Is it, my love, because thy stocking's torn ? 
u Let not such light misfortunes wound your pride— 
*' The full-flounc'd petticoat all darns will hide." 
M Ah !" cried this actress, never to be match' d, 
M Think'stthou I grieve because my stocking's patchM? 
*< Clad like a beggar on the stage I'd go — 
u A queen of clouts— all patch'd from top to toe: 
* l I heed not dress — 'tis this annoys my soul, 
11 I in my manners dread to make a hole — 
u Fear critics soon to rags my fame will tear, 
€i And to the public all my faults lay bare. 
u Ah ! shall my muslin train now sweep that floor 
44 I with a broom so oft have swept before ? 
%i Does a poor housemaid with this robe accord ? 
u Am I the spouse of a Venetian Lord ? 
4i The daughter of a senator ? — a Don ? 
** Can 1 in conscience with this farce £0 on ? 
'* My poor old father keeps a chandler's shop, 
f< And I, alas ! was born to twirl a mop ! 
#l Can I turn actress ? — No, by Jove, I can't ! 
" Tell them point-blank at once, 1 won't 1 I shan't ! 
•* Go seek the audience, make your lowest bow, 
" Cajole them, coax them — none knows better how ; 
li Tell them my tragic fires all end in smoke — 
" Tell them I flinch — retract — renounce — revoke ! 
" Perchance some beaux at this may rail and storm, 
" To find I promis'd more than I'll perform : 
" If so, to calm their wrath, and save abuse, 
" Say I'm a woman — that's your best excuse ! 
" Leave Belvidera 's part out — have it read, 
" Or say, I'm sick—I'm mad— I'm drunk— Pm 
dead! ,> 



220 

She ceas'd, and blubbering clasp* d me to her breast, 

One kiss of comfort on her lips I press'd ; 

Then hither flew, to intercede for grace, 

And state our timid housemaid's piteous case : 

Let me for candour and for mercy plead, 

She speaks a part she knew not how to read. 

Yet, emulous to please, her genius caught 

That Belvidera which her Jarrler taught : 

Therefore such faults as in her part you see; 

Conclude them mine, and punish them in me; 

Pity a poor maid's powers as yet untried, 

Be mild, be tender, treat her like a bride ; 

Don't hiss or groan— don't sneer— don't laugh or scoff— 

And when she enters, don't cry— « Off! Off'! Off!'* 



BURLESQUE EPILOGUE 

To the same, 
BY BELVIDERA. 



Once more I come, thank Heav'n ! with reason 

blest, 
No more bewidow'd, frantic, and distress'd ; 
A maid, net wedded to a single life, 
Shorn d sortie rich single man require a wife* 
Lo ! i resign trie buskin, to resume 
The mop, the duster, and the long-hair'd broom ; 
No more shall i to spades convert these nails, 
But dig for Jaffier in niy tubs and pails ; 



No more preserve Venetia's threatened state, 
But scour the stairs, and scrub the parlour-grate. 
Jaffier no more with ruffians shall take part, 
To plunge a dagger in Priuli's heart ; 
But when our club-room bell rings loud and shrill* 
To drunken lords take up their swinging bill ; 
No more in mad heroics shall he rant, 
But, like himself, old English port decant ; 
Losing all dread of prisons, racks, and wheels, 
As to the wine-rack in the dark he steals. 
Now bold, revengeful, sanguinary Pierre 
Shall curl your perriwig, and cut your hair ; 
For the fell dagger he triumphant bore, 
When for his friend's fidelity he swore, 
(The tragic duties of the night performed) 
Is to a barber's long-tailM comb transformed : 
He cuts all plots, forswears all murd'rous deeds, 
And draws no blood — but when he shaves and bleeds. 
No more shall Rein haul t, urg'd by ruffian lust, 
These virtuous ears with loathsome love disgust ; 
\ T o more attempt to cut chaste Hymen's noose— 
But seize his sheers, his thimble, and his goose ; 
\nd having done our tragic piece of work, 
Squat on his shop-board, cross-legg'd, like a Turk, 
Lo ! in this little journeyman you'll find 
The poet, actor, taylor, allcombin'd; 
He Shakspeare mouths, spouts many a tender line, 
And boasts his passion for the tuneful Nine — 
Boasts how they come subservient to his call, 
And bless him with their favours, one and alU 
If this be true, the Muses are disgrae'd, 
And all prove destitute of common taste* 

L 



222 

Heav'ns ! can nine heav'nly maids thus yield their 

hearts, 
And thus cut up one taylor in nine parts ? 
Nine mortal maids one husband ne'er divide, 
They ask, at least, one bridegroom for each bride ; 
Save taylors court 'em, then their claims increase, 
Our brides nine bridegrooms, then, may share a piece. 
Nor are such claims exorbitant — I trust 
You'il find them mathematically just : 
For here (computing by the Cockney plan) 
Nine taylors put together make one man. 
Did not our oil-man's genius brightly shine, 
This brilliant spark was once a flame of mine ; 
But warm'd with no reciprocal desire, 
I threw cold water on his am'rous fire. 
The grocer's 'prentice, a conceited prig, 
Who plotted treason in a lawyer's wig, 
With Love's dark plots conspires a nymph to win, 
And with sweet bribes would- tempt the girl to sin : 
W hen he shuts up the shop, to woo he comes, 
His pockets stutPd with almonds, figs, and plums. 
She eats his gifts — he calls her fair and slim ; 
But not one fig the damsel cares for him. 
Yet to speak truth, the lad is neat and handy, 
And spouts blank-verse while selling sugar-candy : 
Not all, like him, with tea can mix chopp'd hay, 
Perform the shopman, and enact a Play; 
Cooks, scullions, porters, boots, to grace the scene, 
Conspirators and Senators have been. 
But, lo ! 'tis time to bid the stage good bye, 
Our cooks have now got other fish to fry ; 
And I myself — if truth must be confess'd, 
Must warm ten beds, ere I retire to rest. 



223 

Plague take long Epilogues — I'm tir'd to death. 
You're out of patience talk'd — I out of breath. 
Suppose a nymph a sudden whim should take 
An assignation with some beau to make — 
Should she appoint him at the hour of sleep, 
What buck would fail the rendezvous to keep ? 
Sweet Sirs, this hint is meant for one of you — 
Remember twelve 1 remember twelve ! — Adieu ! 



ELEGY. 



it tl ow can the treasure of thy smiles be bought ? 

How can I wake thy praise, or win thy love ? 
O ! say, dear maid, and on the wings of thought 

I'll fly the ardour of my flame to prove. 

For thee, I'd dare all ills, and brave all pain, 
In all things zealous to complete thy will ; 

Should'st thou the forfeit of my life ordain, 
My blood should flow thy mandate to fulfil. 

Then as I languish on the bed of death, 
Tho' chill convulsions agonize my frame, 

1*11 fondly bless thee w r ith my latest breath, 

And Love's last pray'r shall falter on thy name. 

When to the grave they bear thy lover's corse, 
No more shalt thou pursue me with thy hate ; 

But thy proud heart shall yield to keen remorse, 
And throb with wild emotion at my fate. 
L 2 



224 

Down thy pale cheeks shall stream the fruitless tear, 
And many a sigh shall speak thy sorrows vain, 

When cold and lifeless on the untimely bier 
Thou view'st the victim of thy fell disdain. 



AN ADDRESS 

SPOKEN AT THE 

ST. HELENA THEATRE, 

AT A PLAY AGTED BY GENTLEMEN, 
FOR THE BENEFIT OF A FAMILY. 



JJ-N good old times— when good old customs reign'd, 

And plain blunt men duplicity disdain'd ; 

Kind-hearted landlords, flush'd with gen'rous heat, 

Most rudely civil, fore'd their friends to eat : 

With hospitality their joy express' d, 

And to their houses welcom'd ev'ry guest. 

Proud fashion soon against those laws rebell'd, 

And all such vulgar forms with scorn expell'd : 

Now I must prove a rebel in return, 

And for this night, the laws of fashion spurn, 

To play the vulgar landlord condescend, 

And bow around this house to ev'ry friend. 

Thrice welcome, gen' reus guests ! what true delight 

Your kind attendance yields this happy night I 

A night — devoted to a good design^— 

But speak, Humanity ! the theme is thine ! 

To each kind heart direct an inward voice, 

O speak to all— for here, you have no choice; 



835 

Here, one great sympathy each heart unite*, 
And all possess equality of rights.* 

Critics, I turn to you with conscious fear, 
Before your bar, as culprits we appear; 
We own our guilt — but plead a first attempt, 
We feel that none from errors are exempt. 
And should we fail — still grant us this applause, 
We took up arms in a most worthy cause. 

But few there are, I trust, beneath this roof, 
Who deal in sneers, and live upon reproof; 
Few, who aloud in others faults rejoice, 
And talk of merit in a whisp'ring voice : 
Should many such now judge us, we're undone ! 
But my good Genius tells me — there are none : 
Tells me, that here, a gen'rous candour dwells, 
That here, each bosom with good-nature swells ; 
That searching here, benevolence we find, 
And each spectator brings a liberal mind. / 



LINES 

TO THE MEMORY OF 

Mr. GEORGE MANAGE, 

AN AMIABLE YOUTH, OF RISING CHARACTER, 
WHO DIED AT CEYLON. 



A. he flow'r, on whose delicate leaves 
The most exquisite tints are display 'd, 

Oft the hope of the florist deceives, 
And blossoms, alas ! but to fade ! 

* Each spectator paid ten shillings for a ticket, as well as 
the officers and gentlemen who perform'd. 
L 3 



226 

Ere the mind's early promise of worth 

Attains to maturity's bloom, 
Thus Man, in the season of mirth, 

Is rapidly swept to the tomb. 

The Mother, with joy in her eye, 
The charms of her offspring surveys ; 

But the heart of the Father beats high, 
When his Son grows an object of praise. 

With success, when his efforts are bless' d ; 

When renown hath recorded his name ; 
When his worth by the good is confess' d, 

And he treads in the footsteps of fame : 

When his child is thus fondly discern'd, 
Deems that parent the moment is near, 

When his hope to despair shall be turn'd, 
And his smile shall be chang'd to a tear ! 

That once graceful and elegant form, 
That face, that such candour foretold, 

That heart once so feeling and warm 5 
In the grave now lie senseless and cold. 

With the friends who lament o'er thy doom 
Thus my grief I with tenderness join ; 

And the tear I now shed at thy tomb, 
May it soon be repaid upon mine. 



297 

AN 

OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE 

IN THE CHARACTER OF 

TOM THUMB. 

SPEAKS WHILE SLOWLY RISING FROM A TRAP-DOOR, 
DRESSED AS A GHOST. 



JLiADTES I hope amidst your beauteous host 
There is not one who trembles at a ghost : 
The wish once more to greet such blooming maids, 
Has brought my apparition from the shades ; 
But should my spectre give your nerves one shock, 
I'm off — without the crowing of a cock : 
If one dear cheek grows pale, 'twill strike me dumb, 
And cause the speedy exit of Tom Thumb. 
In those sweet looks I find no fears express'd, 
Your smiles announce that I'm a welcome guest. 
To gain fresh proofs of favour from the fair, 
Comes a deserter from Elysian air : 
Had Thumb another life, another crown, 
For your amusement he would lay them down. 
Who would not die, so you aliow r him merit? 
If such a wretch exists — he is no Spirit. 
Some fop, unfit alike for war or love, 
No giant-killer, ladies, he, by Jove ! 
May no such dastards meet with virtuous wives, 
May coward coxcombs all lead single lives : 
May such in vain to beauty plead their vows, 
Nay, may they all be swallow'd up by cows ! 
l4 



Q28 

Ye men of sense, who scorn each silly flirt, 
And venerate a woman of desert, 
Select your mates from nymphs so wise and fair, 
'Tis Spring, ye cooing swains, 'tis time to pair; 
And if you wish to woo them and to win, 
Con SpiritO) like me, your suit begin. 

That such fine girls may not unmarried live, 
Is the best counsel man or ghost can give. 
Get husbands, ladies, soon, I care not when, 
But choose wise, brave, and honourable men : 
May such a lot befal each girl of worth, 
Is the last ardent pray'r I breathe on earth. 
Nor can deceit be thought to taint the breath 
Of him, whose faith and truth outlive his death. 
May you be bless 'd for many a year to come, 
Prays the fond ghost of faithful Thomas Thumb : 
With this good wish I vanish from your sight, 
So ladies, now I'm off — adieu 1 — good night, 

{Sinks through the Trap-door.) 



LINES written in a GARDEN, 

aborn'd with many monuments and inscriptions, 
where the bust of dryden stood alone neglected. 



Stands Dryden's bust alone uncrown-' d with bays ? 

Shall no fond tablet round his urn be hung ? 
Shall no sweet dirge of tributary praise 
In tuneful numbers at his tomb be sung? 



22g 

Great prince of Anglia's bards, to deck thy shrine 
Let me one crown of votive laurels bring : 

And while this wreath around thy bust I twine, 
A humble requiem to thy manes sing, 

'Twas thou, who first join'd energy to ease, 
Who first of verse th' enchanting science found, 

To charm with strength, with melody to please, 
And soothe the ear with luxuries of sound. 

Timorheus ne'er possessM thy matchless art, 
With sympathy the feelings to controul ; 

To wake the best emotions of the heart, 
And rouze the noblest passions of the soul. 

While worth and genius can respect ensure, 
While wit and learning are to Britons dear, 

So long, great Bard, thy writings shall endure, 
And men of taste thy memory revere. 



THE 

EARTH-KING. 

This and the following Piece were written during the reign 
of Terror, and are humbly dedicated to all lovers of the 
horrible. 



JJL e Virgins, beware of the Earth-King so grim, 
No sprite is more wicked or cruel than him : 
Beware of the Dove, his caressss withstand, 
Nor lure the fell daemon to perch on your hand. 
Ah ! be not in matters of courtship too bold, 
And beware whom you promise to have and to hold, 
l 5 



230 

" Arise thee, my fair bride (said Kenrick the gay) 
*' Let us shun the mad sports and the feasts of the day ; 
'* While the sun o'er our plains sheds a heat so intense, 
fi Let us seek from his fierce rays a place of defence. 
** Rowena, relinquish these fears of a maid, 
11 This morning your lover a husband was made : 
" For such timid reserve, sure the time is gone past, 
M Your blushes and scruples no longer should last, 
" O think of my long and my tender regard, 
" O think, and the fears of a virgin discard ! 
** While our friends at the banquet all madly carouze, 
" I'll steal from the table, and fly to my spouse : 
f£ To the shades of the forest consent to repair, 
•' For a lover's impatience is cruel to bear." 
With decent reluctance Rowena replies, 
And forth to the bow'r of the bridegroom she hies. 
The Earth-King, that fiend so malignant and dire, 
With savage delight sees the virgin retire : 
The form of a wood-dove the goblin assumes, 
His shape is enchanting, and dazzling his plumes : 
Bright spangles of yellow his silver tail speck, 
Three rings of rich scarlet encircle his neck; 
With orange and vi'let his brown breast is ting'd, 
With scollops of purple his white pinions fring'd : 
His green beak is lac' d with a deep crimson streak, 
And a snow-drop he bears in his ebony beak, 
Rowena with rapture the wood-dove address'd— 
She patted his soft neck, and kiss'd his plump breast: 
*' By the faith of thy mate I conjure thee, sweet dove! 
•' Lead me safe to the forest to wait for my love. 
" O shew me, dear bird, my young bridegroom's retreat, 
•• From the boors' festive sports, and the sun's scorch- 
ing heat.'' 



931 

At the word, from her bosom the wood-dove escapes, 
And his flight to the forest with eagerness shapes, 
Leads the way to the thickest retreat of the grove, 
And alights on the top of a myrtle alcove. 
" O that is the bow'r of my bridegroom, I know, 
" For there the best lilacs and hyacinths grow, 
-l And that is the moss couch where Kenrick hath lain* 
•« And here is my dove, 1 have caught him again. 
" Thou fugitive bird, whom I hold in such store, 
" Come plight thee a promise to fly me no more. 
" Henceforth will I take thee to have and to hold, 
" And bind thy red leg with a fetter of gold. 
" My bridegroom is coming, the beautiful youth 
11 To whom I this morning have plighted my truth : 
" My Kenrick is coming, the man whom I love, 
" And he will be charm'd with my pretty wood-dove, 
M Will say the most tender and passionate things, 
" And pat his plump bosom, and kiss these soft wings ; 
M For you to his mistress have prov'd a kind guide, 
M And safe to the bow'r have conducted his bride." 
" My fair bride is safe, love, and safe she shall rest, 
• 4 For the Earth-King now leans with delight on her 

breast : 
M O pat me, and mutch me, and fondle me still, 
" And join thy sweet mouth to my ebony bill. 
* 5 Behold me, dear bride, now restor'd to my shape, 
u No more from his queen shall the wood-dove escape. 
" Survey my fair form with a scrutinous eye, 
M Is Kenrick the bridegroom as handsome as 1 ?" 
She look'd at the Earth-King so ghastly and grim, 
No sprite is more loathsome or hideous than him. 
*' Rowena bide still, let me rest on thy knee, 
fi Of my head your fond bosom the pillow shall be. 
l6 



232 

" Let your cheek on my round scraggy shoulder repose* 
«* Round my long neck, the adder his speckled form 

throws : 
" Tho' my grey beard Is shaggy, and clotted with gore, 
fe ' c I yield to thy pray'r, and shall fly thee no more. 
" Love, you promis'd to take me to have and to hold 9 
* c Come, bind my red leg with a fetter of gold ; 
" Come, closer and closer my cold carcass hug, 
54 For your knell hath been told, and your grave hath 

been duo-." 

o 

The moss couch descending, the turf now yawns wide, 
And the Earth-King sinks down to the tomb with his 
bride. 
Now Kenrick the Dane shuns the riotous treat, 
And soon hopes his lovely Rowenato meet. 
In vain for his bride thro' the forest he seeks, 
Deep sighs rend his bosom, and tears bathe his cheeks* 
iS O where is my fair bride ? O where can she stray ? 
i; I fear me some sprite hath entic'd her away." 
As he speaks, a cameleon springs up from a brake, 
And flies from the rage of a venomous snake. 
This serpent is shapely, and fair to behold, 
His sides shine with silver, his crest beams with gold j 
His orange-strip'd belly is speckled with green ; 
In his wide mouth the weapons of venom are seen : 
His head is enamell'd with exquisite dyes ; 
His long tongue is forked, and fierce are his eyes : 
They seem two large brilliants that shoot forth red fire, 
And graceful his long body moves in a spire. 
Now Kenrick with wonder, attends to the chace, 
Marks the flight of the serpent, and quickens his pace. 
But soon the cameleon espies the fell cave 
Where the Earth-King has due: his connubial grave, 



233 

And thither for refuge he pantingly runs, 

Darts quick thro' the bow'r, and his enemy shuns. 

The snake, thus eluded, desists from his prey, 

His scales all drop off, and his eyes fade away. 

His tail becomes bifid, his quadruple stings 

Grow downy, and change to diagonal wings; 

His head becomes barbed, his bright spires unfold, 

And straight he is chang'd to an arrow of gold. 

With incredible swiftness he shoots up on high, 

Ascends in a straight line, and cleaves the blue sky ; 

Then, falling, returns to the place of his birth, 

And hissing, sinks deep in the womb of the earth. 

Now rises the Earth-King, who thus by his spell 

Has got the young bridegroom ensnar'd to his cell, 

" Ah ! who, he demands, is the mortal so rude 

" Who dares on the Earth-King's dominions intruder" 

" O daemon of horror!" the bridegroom replied, 
" I have stray 'd thro' the forest in search of my bride." 

" Thy bride is a wanton, her vows are bet ray' d, 
" And thou art the dupe of her artifice made; 
11 For me she hath taken to have and to hold, 
" For we are united in fetters of gold : 
" For me she inveigled, for me she did wed, 
" And the lovely young virgin now sleeps in my bed." 

He flies to the grave by the fell Earth-King made, 
YV here the beautiful corpse of Rowena is laid ; 
A toad on her white breast sits bloated and black, 
Foul esks gnaw her shoulders, and worms cat her back : 
Round that neck, which the adders and serpents have 

stung, 
His arms with wild rapture are tenderly flung. 
His lips to her sweet mouth are ardently press'd, 
He groans love's last murmur, and faints on her breast. 



234 



The Earth-King with pleasure now seizing his spade, 
Throws the mould o'er the limbs of the beautiful maid; 
His imps with cold malice the bridegroom deride, 
Who is buried alive in the arms of his bride* 



THE 

AIR-KING. 



JL e lovely young maidens, so blooming and fair, 
Consent not to dance with the sprites of the air : 
For the Air-King is lovely, can flatter and smile, 
So trust not his looks, and beware of his guile. 

" O sister, dear sister, come quickly engage 
" To tell me the name of the beautiful page, 
" Who bow'd so respectful, and crav'd on his knee 
" That I would permit him my partner to be? 
" He dancM so majestic, his steps were so neat, 
** His legs were so shapely, so nimble his feet, 
€€ His wit was so ready, so fluent his tongue, 
" He said such kind things, and so tenderly sung, 
" That long ere the sports of the evening were done, 
*' My pride was disarmed, my affection was won— 
" He kiss'd me at parting : we plighted our vows, 
" I promis'd this morning to make him my spouse. 
" So crown me with chaplets, and make me look gay, 
" For my bridegroom is coming to take me away. 
" O weave me a garland, his temples to grace, 
" Let the flow'rs match the tints of his beautiful face: 



235 

" For ruddy and fair is the youth of my choice, 

" And high beats my heart at the sound of his voice. M 

" O sister, I ken not the fair stripling's name, 
" But think of your rashness with sorrow and shame : 
" He's lovely, beyond all the youths of his age, 
" But what is his title ? and who is this page ? 
" Perhaps he was born in some village obscure, 
" His birth is ignoble, his parents are poor. 
" But you're a rich maid, dress' d in diamonds and 

pearls, 
u Your father's a duke, and your uncles are earls." 

" What ! tho' I'm a lady so noble and rich, 
u On this page, without shame, for my husband I 

pitch. 
" Both my person and riches to him I'll resign, 
" For my vow I have pledg'd, and the boy shall be 

mine. 
" If poor be his fortune, and lowly his birth, 
" He's the handsomest stripling that treads on the earth, 
" I reck not my promise, his beauty is such ; 
11 I reck not my promise, I love him too much : 
11 I reck not my promise, dear sister, not I, 
11 I live but for him, and for him I could die." 

11 O yonder, look, yonder 's a crowd on the plain, 
" Of coaches and horsemen I see a long train : 
" The coaches are gilt, all the horses are white, 
M With housings and trappings of crimson bedight : 
" Silk flags, and rich banners, the footmen display, 
M And a band of sweet music is leading the way." 

M O this is my bridegroom, so lovely and young, 
u Who said such kind things, and so tenderly sun°\ 
" O this is my husband, so wealthy and great, 
M If my page was a king, could he come in more state?" 



936 

Now nearer the splendid procession arrives, 
To the gate of the castle the grand carriage drives : 
It stops, and the beautiful bridegroom descends, 
" I am come for my bride, with my kinsmen and 

friends : 
'* I am come for the loveliest bride in the land, 
** All the portion I ask is her heart and her hand. 
" For what is a dow'ry compar'd to her worth ? 
€( She is richer to me than the mines of the earth. 
€i Her eyes are my diamonds, her teeth are my pearls, 
" My ingots of gold, are her long yellow curls. 
ic O give me, my fair bride — O give me thy self > 
46 I sue thee for love — and I want not thy pelf: 
" I love thee, my love, as I love my own life, 
" And was 1 a king, I would take thee to wife." 

" O sister, dear sister, attend to my fears, 
M By this kiss I implore you, and more by these tears ! 
** O trust not thyself with this beautiful youth, 
<c For I like not his friends, and I doubt of his truth." 

€t I doubt not my page love, suspect not his friends." 
And now to the bridegroom the fair bride descends. 
He snatches her hand, too delighted to speak : 
His lips write the compact of love on her cheek. 
Her transports are equal, as speechless her bliss, 
Her sweet mouth returns the reciprocal kiss. 
The friends and the kinsmen a fond murmur raise, 
They speak of the bride with affection and praise. 
Nor less the fine form of the young bridegroom draws 
The gaze of delight, and the buzz of applause. 
O never so charming a couple were seen, 
So perfect their form, so majestic their mien ; 
And so much alike both in features and make, 
Their mothers might one for the other mistake. 



The bride ?ccms a lovely young angel of light, 

The bridegroom her twi n-brothcr, blooming and bright. 

Now forth from the castle they walk hand in hand, 

The bridegroom calls out for his chariot so grand; 

So new the construction, so neat the design, 

So brilliant the colours, the painting so fine ; 

With such symbols of fanciful elegance grae'd, 

It seems the best work of the genius of taste. 

On the mouldings and pannels the stories are drawn 

Of many a sea-nymph, and many a fawn ; 

Of many a cupid, and many a dove, 

And all that is dear or congenial to love, 

This chariot within, with large mirrors is lin'd, 

So neatly the pannels and mouldings are join'd, 

That when all the doors and the windows are shut, 

It seems out of one solid looking-glass cut : 

The wheels are of gold, and the spokes as they run, 

Refulgentlv blaze like the beams of the sun. 

The horses are lovely, of white without stains, 

But black are their long tails, and full flowing manes. 

At the call of the bridegroom they briskly advance, 

They toss their heads proudly, and gracefully prance; 

At sight of the fair bride more wanton they frisk, 

They shake their full manes, and their flowing tails 

whisk. 
Four boys, dress' d like zephyrs, the carriage precede, 
Their cream-colour' d ponies four dwarf pages lead, 
iEolian harps in their right hands they bear, 
Which mournfully murmur and sigh to the air. 
Now the bride lightly leaps in her chariot of state, 
And sits by her bridegroom so wealthy and great. 
The kinsmen now draw up in ranks on the lawn, 
The music strikes up, and the carriage drives on. 



The horses trot briskly, they travel amain 
O'er many a gay field and fair flow'ry plain ; 
Thro' many rich meads, and luxurious vales, 
Whose spice trees impregnate the soft summer gales, 
Which citron, and myrtle, and orange-trees line, 
With many a cedar, beach, ehesnut, and pine. 
Anon right a-head a huge mountain they spy, 
Whose summit is lost in the clouds of the sky : 
The horses neigh loudly, redouble their speed, 
And swift up the black craggy mountain proceed : 
" Ah ! what is this mountain, so black and so bleak, 
" A castle I see on its steep craggy peak ? 
" O ! what is this mountain, so barren and drear, 
" And when will the home of my bridegroom appear ? ' ' 

(i That mountain is mine, love; I'm lord of these 
lands, 
" On yon craggy summit my black castle stands : 
<c No monarch with me can for riches compare, 
•* And high is my dwelling, I live in the air." 

Now the whistling is heard of a strong northern 
gale, 
And they move with such ease that the coach seems to 

sail. 
cl Say, wh}'- skims the carriage so fast o'er the ground ? 
" My head grows quite giddy, the trees all run round. 
" O tell me how long is our journey to last, 
" Sure the horses have wings, love, they travel so fast." 
" They know my impatience my vows to perform, 
" So put forth their speed, love, and fly like the storm." 

Three heralds their trumpets successively blow. 
They play a sweet symphony mournful and slow. 
From the castle each signal is answer'd again, 
And three times the trumpeters vary their strain. 



*39 

M What means this sweet music, so soft and so clear ? 
u Engag'd in deep converse the trumpets appear : 
11 The first seem some questions of moment to state, 
" The second their answers distinctly relate.' ' 

" O ! listen, my fair bride, attend to the drum, 
u 'Tis beating in signal to tell them we come ; 
" 'Tis the token I gave them to send for the priest, 
" And summon my neighbours and friends to the 
feast/' 

Loud shouts of applause from the castle they hear, 
On the ramparts with banners the servants appear ; 
The drawbridge drops down, the great gates are un- 

barr'd, 
And the bridegroom's grand carriage drives into the 

yard ; 
The gate on its rusty hinge heavily rolls, 
The bridge is drawn up, and the castle-bell tolls. 

" O ! what is this awful and deep-sounding bell, 
" And why is it tolling the funeral knell ?" 

" Tis the bell of the priest — he to chapel invites, 
" Where he waits to unite us with Hymen's blest 
rites." 

And now to the chapel the fair bride is led, 
The priest's awful figure inspires her with dread : 
His dress to his person solemnity lends, 
His long silver beard to his girdle descends ; 
His black eyes are piercing, maliciously leer, 
His aspect is gloomy, reserv'd, and severe. 
On the steps of the altar majestic he stands, 
And calls on the lovers to hold up their hands :' 
" Come, swear by the strongest and holiest vows, 
fl That this is the woman you chuse for ycur spouse ; 



240 

u That 'tis not for money the compact you make; 
•' That her you will marry, and never forsake." 

" This woman I swear I will take me to wife, 
"1 will cherish, protect her, and love her thro' life; 
* e I crave no estate, no possessions demand, 
u All the portion I ask is her heart and her hand" 

To the bride he then turns, with an audible voice— 
* ' Come pledge me that this is the man of your choice ; 
u That his contract of love he may freely command, 
*' And promise to give him your heart and your hand.'* 

" That this is the man of my choice I declare, 
* f To honour and serve him for ever I swear ; 
u The portion he asks I with gratitude give, 
<c And pledge me to love him as long as I live." 

The priest now the hands of the lovers unites, 
And forthwith performs Hymen's mystical rites; 
Before him the lovers with reverence kneel, 
And with two glowing kisses the fond compact seal : 
At the door of the chapel twelve fair virgins stand, 
Each bearing a wreath of gay flow'rs in her hand ; 
These with kind gratulations the bridegroom salute, 
And gracefully dance to the sound of the lute. 
Now the marriage is finish'd, the chapel they leave, 
And proceed to the castle, their friends to receive : 
In the spacious saloon, when the guests are all met, 
Sweet music strikes up, and the banquet is set ; 
All the daintiest meats of the season are there, 
Each bird that is delicate, costly, and rare — 
Each luxurious fruit, and each savoury herb — 
The dishes are gold, and the work is superb ; 
The bowls are of crystal, most cunningly wrought, 
With wines rich as nectar the goblets are fraught, 



24 L 

Soon the revels run high — the glad subject gives birth 
To sallies of wit and tumultuous mirth : 
Yet while his gay guests seem so cheerful and glad, 
The bridegroom alone appears thoughtful and sad. 
%i The cause of your silence, dear husband, I crave, 
" O ! why is my bridegroom so gloomy and grave ? ,f 

M For my bride my affection too ardent is grown, 
*' I languish and sigh to be with her alone: 
c< O ! haste thee in pity the banquet to quit, 
<c Let us leave our mad guests to their wine and their wit: 
4i O ! leave them, my love, to their riotous glee, 
" And silently steal from the banquet with me. 
*' Unseen to the castle's high ramparts I'll glide, 
" For there I can safely converse with my bride/* 
In whispers the lovers their wishes reveal, 
And soon unperceiv'd from the festival steal. 
To the black marble tow'r now the biidegroom repairs—* 
He leads his fair bride to the long winding stairs; 
Up the dark narrow passage in circles they go, 
The journey is gloomy, laborious, and slow : 
" O ! what is this tow'r, love, so dismal and high* 
" Methinks, we have journey'd an hour in the sky ; 
w Sure the depth of the staircase is more than a league, 
" My limbs sadly tremble and ache with fatigue I 9 * 

" Jn the arms of her bridegroom my fair one shall 
rest, 
" Her beautiful cheek shall repose on my breast; 
" To the terrace my bride with affection I'll bear, 
" The distance is short, and we soon shall be there. " 
To her bridegroom's embrace now the lovely maid 

springs, 
Round his neck her white arm she with confidence 
flings J 



242 

Her cheek to his bosom is closely embrae'd, 

And one arm with vigour encircles her waist. 

Up the dark winding staircase so rapid he flies, 

On the wings of the whirlwind they now seem to rise ; 

He bears her as easy and swiftly away, 

As eagles and condors ascend with their prey. 

And now they arrive at a small grated room, 

Which the rays of the setting-sun faintly illume t 

The bridegroom unlocks nine large padlocks of brass, 

And straight to the black marble terrace they pass ; 

She looks o'er the ramparts, and shrieks out aloud, 

" O husband! your castle is built on a cloud ; 

f f Ah ! what is this black walk so mournful to view— • 

" Tis strew' d with large branches of cypress and yew : 

<€ At the foot of yon willow a coffin appears, 

u The long drooping boughs seem to bathe it with 

tears. 
" Say, what does this coffin and willow-tree mean ?" 

" That coffin belongs to the pretty Air-Queen.* ' 
** O husband ! dear husband ! come, quiet my fears, 
" Resolve me this question, and dry up my tears ! 
ff My courage misgives me- — I strongly presage 
*' This castle's the Air-Queen's, and you are her page." 

" To the Air-Queen this castle her fond husband gives,- 
" And I am her page, love, as long as she lives.'" 

" Abandon this queen, love, her service forswear, 
** No rival my passion is able to bear : 
€t O ! far from this black castle fly with your bride, 
<{ On my father's estates we can safely reside ; 
" O ! haste thee to quit this sad terrace," she cries, 
And now to the tow'r with emotion she flies. 
Tho' the doors are all open, no entrance she finds, 
She is blown from the gate by the force of the winds ; 



243 

The loud howling tempest, so cutting and bleak, 
Disorders her long hair, and freezes her cheek. 
To her bridegroom for refuge she struggles to go, 
But stronger and colder the hurricanes blow. 
" O ! let not the rude winds my robes discompose, 
" My limbs are uncovered, and rent are my cloaths : 
fl Come, doff* thy silk mantle my bosom to hide, 
u And gaze not so lewd on the breast of thy biide." 

" Avoid me, base wretch ! of my vengeance beware, 
" For you have insulted the sprites of the air. 
M Tho* your face is unveiTd, and your robe blown to 

strips— 
u Tho' your hair is dishevell'd, and frost-bit your lips— - 
u Tho' your white back is bar'd to the rage of the gale, 
11 And your beautiful bosom is pelted with bail — - 
u Your charms I regard with disgust and disdain, 
" I mock your misfortunes, and laugh at your pain." 

11 O husband ! in pity my sufferings behold, 
ft My delicate limbs are benumb'd with the cold ; 
* c O! haste thee, my bridegroom, a refuge to find, 
" And shelter me safe from the rage of the wind."' 
From her soft plaint the bridegroom indignantly turns, 
With his foot her fair bosom he brutally spurns ; 
He scourges her back, while she shrieks in despair, 
Then clinches his hand in her long yellow hair ; 
By those ringlets her fine face with fury he drags 
O'er the blood-sprinkled terrace, and long rugged flags; 
He hurls her with force o'er the bulwarks beneath, 
The shock of the rude pavement beats out her teeth. 
To the black tow'rshe flies, but the whirlwinds still roar, 
And a large croaking raven sits guarding the door : 
To the fierce bird her soft plaint in vain she renews, 
W kh fury the terrify' d maid he pursues ; 



244 

*' O I drive back this raven so foul and so fierce, 

* % Who threats with his fell beak my bosom to pierce.'* 

" What rude wretch my raven presumes to despise ? 
w Away, bird, and pluck me forth one of her eyes I" 

And now the fierce raven, so black and so sleek, 
In her blue eye-ball plunges his sharp yellow beak : 
* 6 O ! save me, dear page— your protection I crave ! 
iC O ! spare me, by all that is manly and brave ! 
** For my husband, my passion is chaste and sincere** 
" As a wife, the commands of my lord I revere : 
*' O ! let but the cause of his anger be shown, 
14 His wrath I'll appease— -for my crime I'll atone ; 
€( If love is a crime, I confess I have err'd, 
** But let me be pity'd, and let me be heard !" 

" I doat on my fair bride, and love her I will, 
f< But let her the compact of marriage fulfil." 

" Can love be the cause of such barbarous deeds ? 
" You have wounded my fond bosom — see how it 

bleeds ! 
€€ My face you indignantly spurn'd with your feet, 
" From my mouth on the bulwark my white teeth you 

beat ; 
*' You have treated me worse than the vilest of brutes, 
" You have pluck'd up my long yellow hair by the 
roots." 

€c Not a hair of those ringlets, so sportfully curl'd— * 
€c Not a hair would I hurt to be queen of the world. 
" Your raven hath cruelly pluck'd forth an eye, 
'< But I'll love my dear page till the hour that I die." 

** Your eyes are my diamonds, your teeth arc my pearls $ 
*' My ingots of gold are your long yellow curls ; 
€f My portion of wedlock I forthwith demand ', 
*< You premised to' give me your heart and your hand J \ 



u O page ! wliat T promis'd to give you is thine — 
" My hand you received at the priest's holy shrine ; 
M My heart long before, love, you wholly posscss'd, 
* s And thine it shall be, while it beats in my breast l M 

u Arise thee, my lovely bride, be not alarm 'd, 
fl My love is rekindled, my wrath is disarmed ; 
11 That shapely white hand shall be tenderly kiss'd, 
** A bracelet 1*11 bind round that ivory wrist." 

Her hand she presents to the beautiful youth, 
And calls for the bracelet, the pledge of his truth 5 
A hatchet he draws from the folds of his cloak, 
And chops ofF her hand with one barbarous stroke, 

" My bride has fulfill' d her agreement in part, 
" Her hand she has giv'n me, but where is her heart?" 

" No longer, dear husband, I sue for my life, 
" My bosom I willingly bare to the knife ; 
fi Tins heart that still glows with a passion so warm 
•- Is ready the compact of love to perform." 

In his own horrid form now the Air-King appears, 
A monster gigantic, and bow'd down with years : 
On his shoulder the scars of deep scourges are found, 
Beneath his left nipple a foul fester' d wound ; 
His form is unseemly, and full of defects, 
One long crooked tooth from his wide-mouth projects ; 
I lis left eye a cancerous ulcer has shut, 
From his right wrist the hand appears recently cut ; 
All bleeding and bald is the crown of his head, 
I lis long locks are ragged, dishevell'd, and red ; 
His aspect is loathsome, his features are stern, 
From his right bleeding wrist hangs a large golden urn ; 
His vest is of satin, and stain'd with rich dyes, 
His robe is bespangled with blue weeping eyes; 



248 

In the center stands Death, with an uplifted da it, 

And points to a hatchet, a hand, and a heart: 

O'er a gold urn a raven his black wing extends, 

A scroll from his beak with this motto depends .: 

* I'll wed with the loveliest bride in the land, 

' All the portion I ask is her heart and her hand* 

" Come, let us proceed to the green willow-tree, 

" The young Air-Queen's coffin our state-bed shall be.'* 

To the willow the fair bride is silently led, 
A garland of cypress he twines round her head : 
Then cries, " I have made me a large urn of gold., 
" My lovely queen's portion of wedlock to hold: 
€C My bride has fulfill'd her agreement in part, 
" Her hand she has given me, but where is her heart f 

Unbid to the coffin with firmness she goes, 
From her left breast with courage she rends off the 

cloaths. 
With his poniard the Air-King now rips up her side, 
And cuts out the heart of his beautiful bride. 



JULIA'S BOWER. 



Ye friends, who so feelingly join 
Your faithful attachment to show, 
'Tis vain on a sorrow like mine 
Such tender concern to bestow. 

The cares of affection I slight, 

The voice of condolence offends ; 
I am dead to all social delight, 

I am lost to the love of my friends ! 

O hear the last eloquent pray'r, 

The only sad boon I now crave ; 
And leave me in sullen despair 

To weep o'er my Julia's grave. 

O let me converse with her shade, 

That inhabits the myrtle alcove, 
Where the soft blush of candour display'd 

The first tender hints of her love. 

How I sigh'd to retire from that bow'r, 
Where the turf is with amaranths crown 'd, 

Where still blooms each delicate flow'r, 
And the vine spreads its curtain around. 

Now it soon shall be shaded with yew, 

There the cypress its dark gloom shall spread ; 

And the rosemary's pale branches strew 
The wood-moss that pillows my head. 
m 2 



248 

For 'twas there with affectionate care 
Wreaths of myrtles and laurels I twin'd^ 

And thought with delight of my fair 
As the rose to the lily I join'd. 

As the lily its lovely head bow'd, 
From its fair cup a tear softly stole ; 

I kiss'd it with rapture, and vow'd . 
'Twas an emblem of Julia's soul. 

Once an angel in temper and face, 
Blest with virtues and talents as rare, 

More beauty, more genius, more grace, 
Were never bestow' d on a fair. 

So feeling, so gen'rous, so meek, 
So candid, so sprightly, so pure ; 

But of Julia's perfection to speak, 

Ev'n the language of love is too poor! 

On these lips I receiv'd her last breath, 
What sad joy from the thought I derive ; 

For she smil'd in the moment of death, 
When I pray'd that 1 might not survive. 

At the suit with such ardour preferr'd, 
Death, held up his omnipotent dart, 

And to prove my petition was heard, 
Now lays his cold hand on my heart. 



^249 
LINES written in a MUSIC-BOOK, 

HALF DEVOURED BY MICE. 



]De ar little volume ! pearl beyond all price ! 
Tho' thus profan'd by sacrilegious mice, 
If once I catch these foes to flow'r and malt, 
Til eat them up without one grain of salt. 
My sword a fiddle-stick, and arm'd e/t/Ii/te, 
I'll trounce each vile, discordant, thievish brute. 
Be it proclaim'd — so mighty is my rage — 
Hot war, from this time forth, with mice I'll wage. 
I'll rouze their ancient enemies the frogs, 
Intrigue with hawks, negotiate with dogs ; 
Ferrets and owls shall be my firm allies, 
Ten regiments of cats I'll subsidize. 
Weasels from Russia to my help I'll call, 
And man, the common enemy of all. 
Gossips themselves to gossip shall forget, 
And run to ev'ry hole their traps to set : 
In that entrenchment fights my best ally, 
There the grim monarch lurks in ambush sly. 
No soldier mouse his dire opponent sees, 
Death fights behind — a shield of toasted cheese. 
Your greatest foe shall be my dearest friend. 
Conscripted troops I'll levy without end, 
Fear not the mercy of such troops to trust, 
They'll all give quarters — but they'll half ye first. 
If ye demand as culprits to be tried, 
And wish that justice may your fate decide, 
Sirs, I consent. Your judge shall bean owl, 
Twelve terrier jurymen your guilt shall howl : 
M 3 



250 

When in his scales, your cause this justice weighs, 
You'll have no room to curse the law's delays. 
This learned judge (if I'm of owls a judge) 
W ill soon to execution make ye trudge. 

Ye music-stealing rogues, I know your plea, 
Nature design'd that scoundrels ye should be : 
Thieves ye were born — and thieves ye wish to die— 
With all my heart — ye rascals ! what care I ? 
I feel no wish your thievish views to bilk, 
Purloin my rice and barley, lap my milk ; 
Devour my bread, my rush-lights, and my cheese, 
Gnaw my old shoes, ye scoundrels, if ye please : 
But O ! forbear to taste the book of songs, 
This food to Venus and her boy belongs. 
Refrain from love's best luxuries, nor eat 
The Muses' cookery, and Poets' meat. 
How oft, Terpsichore, with thee and thine 
The poor musician is cornpell'd to dine ! 
How oft, when most despairing and jejune, 
Poets for dinner hum some plaintive tune !— 
Such meals are sweet and light, not tough and hard, 
And truly worthy of a Grub-street Bard. 



A MOTHER, 

WHO MOURNS HER SON, WHO PERISHED IN A HURRICANE, 



V V ho thus wildly is heard to lament ; 

V> ho thus pours forth the griefs of her heart : 
u Ah ! why did I ever consent 

" With the child of my bosom to part ? 



<25T 

M Ah ! why Was the Mother denied 
" In affluence her darling to keep !J 

11 All ! why for his wants to provide, 

M Did she yield him a prey to the deep !" 

Tho' your hearts with compassion may beat, 
With reserve let your feelings be borne : 

Prophane not grief's sacred retreat, 
And leave her in secret to mourn. 

Of a wretch so despondent and wild, 
Who shall hope to relieve the distress ! 

Can the Mother, thus robb'd of her child, 
The affections of nature suppress ! 

Can her pangs be assuag'd by thy pray'r ? 

Can thy sighs her distraction console ? 
Can thy tears bid her cease to despair ? 

Can thy pity speak peace to her soul ? 

As soon with a smile mightst thou tell 
Yon maniac more calmly to rave ; 

As soon with a frown mightst thou quell 
The tempest that howls to the wave ! 

Nor deem her afflictions at rest, 

When in torrents her tears cease to flow : 
For rooted, more deep in her breast, 

A permanent sadness shall grow. 

\\ hen her friends all sit social and glad, 
As she smiles at some mirth-moving tale : 

Of a sudden her soul shall grow sad, 
In a moment her cheek shall turn pale. 
M 4 



252 

Of the strange? who made her rejoice, 
She is struck with a look, or a word \ 

Or the tones of a similar voice 

May with sad satisfaction be heard. 

Ah ! then with a sob and a sigh 

Shall the fate of her son be deplor'd ; 

And unseen, shall a tear from her eye 
In the fulness of anguish be pour'd. 

Still, appali'd at the howl of the breeze, 
With distraction she gazes around : 

Not an air stirs the leaves of the trees, 
But her terror revives at the sound. 

When it awfully thunders and rains, 

And the red lightning gleams thro' the skie% 

A quick tremor thrills thro' her veins, 
For the shipwreck her fancy descries-. 

On the mast, as she views his lov'd form, 
Fear's cold agonies curdle her blood : 

And she feels the full rage of the storm, 
As she sees him engnlph'd in the flood. 

Yet ere long shall these extasies cease 

Thus remorseless her heart-strings to tear ; 

And the silver-wing'd spirits of peace 
Shall banish the fiends of despair. 

Retirement's calm moments to cheer, 

Beatific illusions shall rise ; 
And a form most delightfully dear 

Shall seem to descend from the skies. 



253 

Then, a seraph shall seek her embrace, 
And bestowing a filial kiss, 

Shall speak, as he smiles in her face, 
An assurance of infinite bliss. 



TO 

A SNAIL. 



Ml y dear good Mister Snail, 
I beg you won't suppose 
That I am one of those 

Who love at worth to rail. 

I know you're little priz'd, 
Nay, frequently despis'd, 

To this I must agree : 
You're torturM, teaz'd, and hurt, 
And held as cheap as dirt, 

But never so by me. 

I scorn you not, good sooth, 

But at your lot repine ; 
Because, to speak the truth, 

It far surpasses mine. 

Safe screen'd from rain and hail, 
Behind some tile or stone, 

You brave the howling gale, 
And call your hour your own : 

M 5 



£54 

While I must oft endure 

Thro' streets at night to roam, 
Because I am too poor 

To have a house and home. 

You have not in your cot 

(The two worst plagues of life) 

A smoky chimney got, 
Or yet a scolding wife. 

Ko brawling girls and 003^3 
Your tenement contains, 

Who make sufficient noise 
To turn a poor man's brains. 

No shooling gossip guests, 
Loquacious, dull, and rude ; 

Society's worst pests, 

Upon your house intrude. 

To friends you ne'er look cool, 
Or deem their calls a bore ; 

But to the fop and fool 

You still can shut your door. 

No landlord makes a rout 
And on your ruin bent, 

Declares you must turn out, 
Unless you pay your rent. 

Gratis, beneath that tree, 

Where wits and scholars fast, 
Nature provides for thee 
A bountiful repast. 



855 

You ne'er for shoes and hose 
Coolers, and hosiers, woo ; 

Or for a suit of clothes 
A taylor meanly sue. 

The sun your guide by day, 
The stars your lamps by night ; 

No taxes you must pay, 

For using Heav'n's free light. 



'& 



Alore wretchedly to live 
In times of cruel dearth, 

You are not forc'd to give 
The tenth of all your worth. 

Nor bound by civil rules 

To furnish cash and notes, 
Because like rogues and fools 
Men cut each others throats. 

Gay as the lark, and free 
As honey-making bee, 

As will directs, you roam ; 
Yet tho* you rove so much, 
Your luxury is such, 

Yo never go from home. 

For want of friends or bail, 
To spunging-house or jail 

You ne'er get draggM away ; 
Nor dread the baker's score, 
Which is, alas ! much more 

Than mortal grubs can say. 
M 6 



256 

While far from prison-walls, 
And free fom human thralls, 

You muse on Flora's green 
Grinning thro' prison-bars, 
Brave soldiers, gallant tars, 

And tuneful bards are seen. 



ELEGY 

UPON A EEAUTIFUL WHITE 

NORWEGIAN CAT, 

CALLED 

TOM VINEGAR : 

"Who was killed in a Gale of Wind by the upsetting of a 
Table, which the Servants had neglected to lash. 



•^urs'd be the breeze that splits a quiv'ring sail, 
F.ach drunken ship that staggers in a gale ; 
The tides that drive her on without controul, 
The waves that pitch her, and the seas that roll. 
Scourge him, ye furies, with tartar ean whips, 
Scourge the vile wretch, who first invented ships. 
Whip me each servant, yellow, black, and white.* 
What all ? — yes, all — we then shan't miss the right. 

* Three servant", a Black, a Mulattos, and a man named 
White — to whose negligence this matchless Cat was sacri- 
ficed. It is a strange paradox, but these three culprits were 
alike innocent and guilty; for what is everybody's business, 
is nobody'* business — and that accounts for the way in which 
work is sometimes done, as well as how Cats, &c. are 
Sometimes undone, 



z:>7 

O ! had tlic rogues last night been soundly slash 1 d— 

Had they been whipp'd, the table had been lash'd. 

Storms, ships, waves, tables, servants, on ye all 

May old Ernulphuss's worst curses fall ! 

What can atone ! — the best of cats is kill'd ! 

Alas! poor Vinegar, thy blood is spilTd ! 

Ye sprites, whose office 'tis to wake and weep 

O'er graves where Worth and Genius go to sleep ! 

Ye Venusses and Cupids, who were heard 

To sob aloud when Lesbia lost her bird ! 

Come, with each sister Muse and cousin Grace, 

Let each a chaplet round her temples place ; 

Let each some cypress in her bosom clap, 

And decorate with rosemary her cap. 

Tho' each coy Muse, intends to die a maid, 

Let her in widow's garments come arraj'd ; 

Let her, tho' yet no spouse her lips hath kiss'd, 

Sport a lawn mob, and weepers at the wrist. 

Palc-fac'd Melpomene 1 thou mournful chief, 

Parent of tragedy, and queen of grief ! 
Sweep with thy skilful hand thy 1)' re of lyres, 
Till all our heart-strings tremble like its wires- 
Sweep, till each sad enthusiast appears 
Half choak'd with sighs, and three-parts drown'd in 

tears : 
Bid old maids pierce the air with grunts and groans- 
Bid hungry dogs forget to gnaw their bones- 
Bid kittens cease to play with balls of thread, 
And frisk no more — for Vinegar is dead ! 
He was the best and fairest of his kind, 
Alas ! he leaves no parallel behind : 
His form was elegant, his eyes skj r -blue, 
His swan-down fur of an unsullied hue ; 



253 

White as a maid of honour's spotless fame, 
And sweet his temper was, tho' sour his name ;* 
He was as valiant and as good a cat 
As ever in a malt-house munch' d a rat ; 
At meals he ne'er was known to teaze and beg, 
To stick his talons in a stranger's leg. 
Jump in a tea-tray, knock a wine-glass down, 
Or rudely trespass on an old maid's gown ; 
With various tricks young ladies he amus'd, 
And those who sought a kiss were ne'er refus'd : 
Moreover, while their soft hands smooth' d his fur 3 
He sang to please them — alias, did pur. 
He ne'er was known a liver-wing to smug, 
Or plunge his whiskers in a milkmaid's jug ; 
He ne'er was seen to pick one marrow T -bone 
That could not lawfully be call'd his own. 
In points of breeding he the race excell'd, 
He ne'er against decorum's laws rebell'd ; 
He ne'er was rudely known to discompose 
The finest nerve of the most feeling nose; 
Thoroughly clean, and perfectly genteel, 
He, solas, to lee-chains at night would steal. 
Poor Norway Tom ! by one unlucky stroke 
The jug that held thy vital gas got broke ; 
The skull, life's cruet, crack' d upon the floor, 
And down dropp'd Tom, alas ! to rise no more, 
" How lov'd, how valu'd once, avails thee not,'* 
For now, poor Vinegar, thou'rt gone to pot ! 

* His master, a person of eccentric character, had this 
amiable creature christened Vinegar, under an idea that his 
temper was sour, because he once swore at a dog who at- 
tempted to take bU dinner from him, 



259 

Thou worthiest pet, whose praise was ever sung! 
Into the sea with tears I saw thee fiun£. 
Dearest of cats ! I wish with all my heart, 
Instead of thee, it had been Bonaparte ! 



EOW TO LOSE A DINNER : 

A TALE. 



_!L hy children, old Momus, too thoughtless and gay. 
Oft speak what they'd give both their ears to unsay ; 
And w r ith more repartee than good-nature possess'd, 
Now and then crack more jokes than their friends can 

digest. 
Ye wags, w r ere these talents more wisely employ M, 
What perils and broils ye might learn to avoid ! 
For sland'rous discourse and sarcastical prate 
Ev'n 'midst friends the most deadly dissensions create. 
'Tis true, that the point of a venomous joke 
The grins and the laughter of some may provoke ; 
But the jest that spreads smiles o'er the cheeks of a few 
With tears may the faces of many bedew. 
Ye wags, to correct this most obstinate vice, 
Ere ye dare to speak once, for the future think twice : 
Beware whose good fame ye presume to traduce— 
Whom ye turn into scorn, and assault with abuse. 
For the Tale I record w r ill most clearly unfold, 
Our thoughts should not always in public be told ; 



260 

And prove that a wit of the greatest renown 
May sometimes make blunders as well as a clown. 

In Scotland there dwelt a most whimsical man, 
The son of a laird of an old Highland clan ; 
A being fantastic, eccentric, and queer, 
In temper ironical, shrewd, and severe ; 
Who ludicrous rhymes could extempore tag, 
And was thought when at college a thorough-bred wag ; 
In puns and bon-mots, 'twas his forte to excel, 
And no man on earth told a story so well. 
That of wit he possess'd no small share, is most true, 
But he'd no small proportion of impudence too : 
E'-'ry scandalous act, each remarkable deed, 
All knowledge, all news, seem'd from him to proceed ; 
By him were more wonders retail' d than we see 
In the paper of Lewes that's printed by Lee ;* 
Amidst bon-vivants he was known far and near, 
In exchange for his jokes he partook their good cheer : 
E'en midst kinsmen and friends much contention took 

place, 
At whose table this wit of the North should say grace : 
So keen were all ranks such a guest to possess- 
So proud were all parties to be in his mess, 
While thus in his zenith of fame liv'd the wag, 
The town was amus'd with some precious scan. mag. 
The subject of which made the tabbies all prate, 
Excited much clamour, and caus'd high debate. 
A few to the lady imputed no blame, 
While others condemn 'd her, and filch' d her good 
name* 

9 A newspaper always abounding in the pseudo-miraculous. 



Woe is me ! that the virtuous, the pure, and the chaste, 
By the world arc so often rcvil'd and disgraced ! 
Woe is me ! that thy friendship, too generous maid, 
Should with black-BOill'd ingratitude soon be repaid ! 
A merchant there was (for oft Scotchmen thus call 
Each chapman and pedlar that sets up a stall]-* 
A merchant there was, who sold tea, sugar, cheese, 
Tobacco, red-herrings, fresh eggs, and split-pease, 
Sand, hair-powder, gun-powder, cinnamon, mace, 
Hats, shoes, stockings, sleeve-buttons, cambric^ and lace. 
This man, a poor, idle, pragmatical fop, 
Thought of nothing but dress, and neglected his shop : 
The consequence was (what his friends oft foretold) 
Not enough to buy salt tor his porridge he sold ; 
From each house he once serv'd he at length got dis- 

miss'd, 
And his name soon appear'd upon bankruptcy's list, 
A lady there was, e'er his doom was decreed, 
Who had lent him same cash in a moment of need : 
For this timely assistance due thanks were profess'd, 
And thus to the lady his feelings expressed ; 
11 Dear Ma'am, your demand shall be gladly defrayM, 
" 'Tis the first debt in honour that ougnt to be paid, 
*' As I cannot raise cash to so large an amount, 
rt I've devis'd a new mode to discharge your account : 
" As a pledge in your hands 1 to-night beg to place 
M An equivalent portion of cambric and lace." 
The lady consenting, repair'd tne same eve 
The cambrics and laces in pledge to receive; 
When, lo ! the base wretch two accomplices got, 
And letting them into his infamous plot, 
They seiz'd the poor lady, who fearing a rape, 
Soon threw down the parcel, ana made her escape. 



2$2 



When this infamous man — it surpasses belief—* 
Declar'd that this innocent girl was a thief, 
Who came to felonious achievements inclin'd, 
And swore from his house that the goods were pur- 

loin'd. 
That to act tow'rds a friend so ungrateful a part, 
Should enter a wretch's detestable heart,' 
Few people would credit who knew not the man, 
Nor saw thro' the drift of his infamous plan. 
The lady some wealth and more beauty possess'd, 
Which conjur'd up wicked designs in his breast ; 
And made him conclude, if his goods were found on 

her, 
She'd be glad to compound with the loss of her honour. 
Revolting with scorn at a conduct so base, 
To her friends she explicitly stated her case : ' 
To the world, these her innocence loudly proclaimed, 
But her guilt was believ'd, and her honour defam'd ; 
For such is the world, where there's room to suspect, 
To pronounce condemnation they never neglect ; 
Their torrent of prejudice ne'er can be stemm'd, 
And a pannel arraign' d, is a culprit condemn'd. 
Young and old, rich and poor, soon the damsel abus'd, 
And a thousand condemn'd her, for one that excus'd. 
Our wag to the scandalous faction adher'd ; 
For her story a good theme for satire appear'd : 
Now satire to him was an exquisite treat, 
And his joke he lov'd more than his drink or his meat. 
This wag thro' the country was much giv'n to roam, 
And in search of adventures oft travell'd from home : 
Little cash at hotels our excursioner spent, 
As he still made new friends wheresoever he went. 



963 

A land of good parts, a true lover of wit, 
Charic'd one night next our wag at a play-house to sit; 
Who, charm'd by the shrewd observations he made, 
And the rich vein of humour his language betray 'd, 
Kxpress'd satisfaction in terms the most warm, 
And anxious a pleasing acquaintance to form, 
Invited the wag, in a way the most hearty, 
To dine the next day at his house with a party. 
Our wag, who in truth was a bit of a glutton, 
And car'd not at whose house he gratis cut mutton, 
Made a low bow of thanks to the courteous young 

laird, 
And at four the next day to his lodgings repair'd. 
His name is announc'd, the polite host descends, 
And ushers him into a room full of friends ; 
In a chair next himself most respectfully seats him, 
And thus with civility cordially greets him : 
" You're heartily welcome, my good Sir, believe me, 
M It gives me great joy in my house to receive ye ; 
" To present you by turns to each friend in the room, 
" In a party so large, too much time would consume; 
" I hope you'll consider my friends as your own, 
u No doubt we ere long shall be all better known : 
" To your persons tho' strangers, they all know your 

fame, 
" And are all well acquainted enough with your 

name /" 
Now the fumes of roast goose from the kitchen arose, 
And sweet thro' the key-hole saluted each nose. 
The wag, as the grateful effluvia he smelt, 
The keenest emotions of appetite felt ; 
And began, tho' engag'd in profound conversation^ 
Already to guttle in anticipation : 



*04 

But between cup and lip Disappointment steps in, 
What was meant for the mouth sometimes stops at the 

chin ; 
And a poor half-starv'd wit, just about to be fed, 
May by some vile mishap be sent hungry to bed. 
I know not what daemon, to wits unpropitious, 
First led to a subject so most inauspicious ; 
But our wag (so the genius of blunders decreed) 
In the scandalous new s of the day took the lead ; 
And amongst other topics, the story retail' d 
Of the foppish young merchant that recently fail'd. 
He now with sly sneers and significant grins, 
An attack on the rapt-fearing lady begins ; 
Who in terms most unfeeling, indecent, and base, 
He accus'd of purloining the cambric and lace : 
" By the gods ! 'tis a satire on justice," he cried, 
** That a culprit so great for her crime was not tried. 
" To the bar if this daring offender was brought, 
" And indicted for theft, as most clearly she ought, 
<6 In opinion no jurors on earth could prove various— 
" I'll pledge my existence the woman's nefarious, 
" Forsooth, she's a beauty — she's rich and genteel, 
" And ergo is licene'd unpunish'd to steal. 
u 'Tiswell for this nymph of such high cultivation, 
" I boast not the honour to be her relation ; 
" Or else I'd transport the most charming offender, 
" And to Botany Bay would for fourteen years send her, 
f6 To sport amongst convicts her cambrics and laces, 
" To teach rogues refinement, and footpads the 

graces.' ' 
He ceas'd; when the squire, who much mildness 

possess'd, 
Arose, and thus spoke to his thunder-struck guest : 



2o5 

w O man, so impartial, so righteous, and strict, 

" Who without judge or jury can dare to convict ! 
11 The lady you vote so transporting a jaunt 
u Is tiiis gentleman's cousin — that gentleman's aunt ; 
11 On your right is her father — to the left sits her ///$• 

titer ; 
tc That lady's her sister — and I am her brother ; 
" That's the lack) herself, in the black bombasin, 

u MissG , Mr. Crackjoke, from Old Aberdeen." 

" Say you so 1" cries the vvag, as he strokes his 
cravat — 
" Then I'll just beg permission to ring for my hat. 
" If the lady can pardon my blunder, pray let her; 
" But the sooner 1 wish her good morning the better." 
,c Here's your hat," said the laird, with an air of 
disdain — 
•' You may thinkyourself lucky \ don't add my cane." 
He was glad to sneak off', yet declar'd 'twas pro- 
voking 
That a wit should thus lose a good dinner by joking. 



HOW TO GET A DINNER; 

A TALE. 



A mere lives not a man more facetious and merry 
Than Jeremy Didler, now call'd Shojivig Jot// ; 
Not Sherry himself is more sprightly or funny, 
Blest with more ready wit, or with less ready money. 



2(3(5 

If the fellow's no Satiit, he's no very great sinner, 
And none knows so well how to pick up a dinner. 
Once boasting his genius for humming and fooling, 
And above all the rest, his fine talent for shpoling ; 
That he w r as a son of the public he vaunted, 
And said from his parents he got what he wanted : 
" I am ne'er dunn'd by tradesmen," quoth he— 

" deuce a bit— 
" The world gives me credit for being a wit ; 
" And as for a dinner, I dine where I chuse, 
" With ladies or lords, or with Gentiles or Jews." 

A wag who was present, exclaim'd, woe befal him, 
If he would not give him a job that should pall him : 
•'For all you're so knowing," cried he, " and so 

witty, 
" You won't dine with Gripus to-day in the city. 
fc I'll lay you five pounds to a Brumidgem button, 
*' That shool as you will, Sir, you don't cut his 
mutton," 
" Sir," isays Jerry, " a wager I shall not refuse ; 
" But no money I'll stake, as I've got none to lose. 
" I'll propose a queer bet, if it meets approbation— 
** 'Tis a whimsical notion, of Fancy's creation ; 
?* But 'twill serve just as well our dispute to decide 
" As if fifty thousand were stak'd on each side. 
" To-morrow is Fast-day, and many a poet 
" In the regions of Grub-street will very well know it ; 
-i Let who loses our bet eat no flesh, fowl, or fish up, 
" But promise to fast like his Grace the Archbishop. 
" If I dine with old Gripus to-day, being winner, 
" You to-morrow shall fast, while I eat up your din- 
ner; 



267 

46 But if I fail to diddle him, in spight of my cunning, 
4t I must go without dinner, 'tis clear, two days run- 
ning/ 1 

" Sir, agreed!" said the wag, who w r as staunch 
and high-mettled. 

" Done and done !" both then cried, and the matter 
was settled, 

Jerry knowing full well that mumpers much wiser 
Found it no easy matter to humbug a miser, 
He prcpar'd for the onset with much circumspection, 
Such as candidates use at a time of election ; 
For he canvassM about, like those able practitioners, 
Till he sifted out news from the miser's parishioners. 
Having learnt when he din'd, and some facts of his 

hist'ry, 
That his neighbours discovered, in spite of all myst'ry : 
Well prepared for the onset, w 7 ith impudent face 
He knock'd at his door, just as Gripus said grace. 
Assuming an air most impressive and fervent, 
M I want Mr. Gripus," said he to the servant. 

M You can't speak to master, Sir, now," says the 
clown, 
" He's no' but this moment to dinner set down." 

" No matter for that," says the w 7 ag to the valet, 
11 For I've brought the old buckram some news to his 

palate : 
" Sure he's not so distressed for a mouthful of victual, 
" But what he can wait for his dinner a little ; 
" So to call him, my lad, don't appear so unwilling, 
" The next time I conic lure I'll give you a shilling. 
" I'm sorry it happens I've no change at present — 
Ai What's that in the kitchen I now smell so pleasant ;" 



QG8 

Says John, " 'Tis a hare that ma oonck, Dick Poach, 
f< Sent master last night by the Beveria coach ; 
M For master and I, tho' so different our stations, 
" By the side of ma moother* are distant relations : 
" He's got ragged kinsmen in Yurkhhier by doozens— 
*' 'Hap you think, Sir, 1 hoom, but i'se warrant we Ye 

coo.revzs." 
The wag at this simple relation felt merry — 
The word couzen came pat to the purpose of Jerry. 
So assuming a manner and voice most endearing, 
He cries, M My dear fellow, I bring news worth hear- 
ing ! 
" Call your cousin— I've something of moment to tell 

him. 
46 Confound that roast hare, boy ! — how strong I now 

smell him ! 
*' I hope cook put pudding enough in his belly — 
" I hope she won't stint us in red-currant jelly." 
The clown thus cajol'd, with more zeal than good 

breeding, 
Abruptly prevented his master from feeding. 
Old Gripus, a tough piece of bouilli still mumbling, 
Got up in much anger, and out he came grumbling : 
But Jerry by grumbling not soon disconcerted, 
And ne'er by black looks from his purpose diverted, 
Receives not old Gripus's rudeness in dudgeon, 
But boldly thus speaks to the crusty curmudgeon : 
*' Sir, I find, umnrorm'd of the Prussian embargo, 
" You have rashly dispos'd of the John and Jane 

cargo. 
" You are grossly misus'd. Sir — they've tipt you the 

bubble, 
" Such articles now will at market fetch double* 



269 

€ * How to shrink from fulfilling a bond so absurd, 
" Without losing your honour, or breaking your word, 
u Appears at first sight, 1 confess, far from easy, 
M As merchants of fame are so jealous and queasy ; 
<s But I've drawn up a plan, and you'll say, when 

you've read it, 
u You may forfeit your bargain, and yet save your 

•credit : 
* c You'll strike a grand stroke, and without misbe- 
having, 
" Just pocket five thousand pounds-— all neat clear 

saving. 
" If I don't prove this fact to your heart's "best desire, 
" You shall post me on 'Change for a rogue and a liar, 
" Sir, you've no time to lose, as the cargo is sold— 
" But I fear all this time that your dinner grows cold. 
" I needs must confess I have call'd out of season, 
" But I trust you'll excuse it, I've told you my reason. 
%t When gold is in question, politeness should vanish, 
*' All forms of good breeding from 'Change I would 

banish : 
" I hate well-bred ninnies, all sugar and honey, 
" Who make us low bows, when we want to make 

money. 
" Give me plain rough-spun dealers, who make a blunt 

offer, 
" That's certain to put good hard cash in my coffer ; 
"** Give me safe speculations, that make me a winner, 
M Sir, I can't bear to keep you so long from your 

dinner — 
4i I have three old engagements to-day, 'tis most true ; 
"** But I'll put them all off, and take pot-luck with you. 

N 



270 

et I'll follow you, Sir — pray step in — first, we'll dine, 
'* Then, we'll canvass my plan, as we're drinking our 

wine. 
i6 Sir, you look faint with hunger — you do, I declare— 
** John, go and tell cook to send up the roast hare." 

Old Gripus, by stratagem thus neatly taken, 
Felt conscious, for once* he could not save his bacon : 
So to Jerry's proposal he gave his assent, 
And into the parlour to dinner they went. 
Now the shooler, the pleasantest fellow on earth, 
Being flush' d with success, gave full scope to his mirth* 
The miser's sour looks were to him no impediment, 
Each word the churl mutter'd prov'd fresh food for 

merriment : 
Not a thing that was said* not a person at table, 
To escape unchastis'd by his satire were able. 
The hare coming in, caus'd another don ?not 9 
With the voice of a sportsman he halloo 'd, " Soho ! 
*J Mistress Puss, in the boot tho' you travell'd so fast* 
*< lwho rode in the basket have caught you at last. 
" 'Tis a lev' ret, I fear, Sir — I wish she was older: 
<s Help me to two haunches, the back, and a shoulder ; 
46 If you choose, you may add a small slice from the 

belly. 
" John, reach me the sauce-boat, and bring me the jelly. 
" To-day I'll take double my usual repast, 
*' And for this plain good reason, to-morrow's a fast : 
*' As I don't much like fasting, according to law, 
*' I'll pack Sunday's dinner in Saturday's maw." 
" Haw! haw! haw !" roars out John, " by Gora! 

that's a good'en ; 
" Thou'se oop to all rigs — thou'se a deep one for 

pudden : 



" I nc'ar i'malife heard so many droll *p ditch t$ 9 

" Tse laugh'd till, like Kemble, ma side's fall of 

ditches," 
Mrs. Gripus came in for a share of his satire, 
As well as a spruce clerk, named Timothy Spatter : 
With elegant small-talk he entertain'd Dolly, 
Complimented Miss Sukey, and flatter'd Miss Molly. 
The ladies with titters, broad grins, and tehees, 
Applauded his puns, and his droll repaitees. 
His jokes pleas'd all hearers, but Gripus the miser, 
Who of humour and jests was a hearty despiser : 
When his wifesmil'd orsimper'd, the old hunks look'd 

black, 
And seem'd tortur'd, like thieves who are broke on a 

rack. 
When the fruit was remov'd, and the ladies withdrew^ 
Old Gripus thought Jerry might do the same too : 
" With your leave," says the miser, " in my way of 

thinking, 
" "lis a vile waste of time to sit joking and drinking ; 
<f I never find time to be witty or funny, 
" My only amusement is getting of money. 
'* No subject's so pleasing to me, Sir, as trade is." 
" Fill a bumper," says Jerry — " I'll give you — The 

Ladies ! 
" Toss it off! — Why you stare like the man in the 

moon ! 
" Fill again — " Speed?/ peace, Mr. Gripus, and soon ! 
" 'Sdeath, Sir ! don't fight shy ! — if you do, you're no 

cit— 
€i If you do, you're no friend to Sam Cur as the wit 1 

n 2 



£72 

" Who in Parliament shines as our greatest speech* 

maker, 
cc Is Alderman, Baronet, Civis * et Baker /// 
* I'll .give you his last public toast, if you please, 
" King) Churchy Constitution — let's drink the three 

cV///" 

** Stop the bottle!" says Gripus-«=" for shame, Mis- 
ter Didler ! 

<c Do you think I intend to gtt drunk as a fidler ? 

" We've had drinking enough— would you set us 'all 
raving ? 

" 'Tis high time, methinks, Sir, to talk about saving. 

" Of your promise, I now must beg leave to remind 
you, 

* c And true to your word, I expect I shall find you : 

** Your honour stands plighted to make it appear 

4< How five thousand pounds by your plan I may clear." 
" I'll fulfil my agreement — the plan shall be thine, 

** I promis'd to tell it while drinking our wine ; 

« I'll fulfil, don't you fear— first we'll fill full out 
glasses. 

" Mister Gripus, your daughters are sweet little lasses ; 

* "In the beautiful church of St. Stephen's, Walbrook, 
we find a monument, bearing an inscription couched in such 
classical purity of diction, that we should naturally judge 
it to have been composed by the most learned Baronet 'him- 
self. It commences thus : 

P. M. 

Johannis Lilburne, 

Civis et Grocer III 

Who died 15° Octob. Anno Verbi Incarnati 1678, &ci> 

The whole of this inscription is worthy of remark, but too 

longjto be inserted here. 



273 

u But Sukey 's my fav'rite, she's mild as a Jove— 

M So we'll drink her good health— here's The Girl that 

I love ! 
u I'm inform'd, that tho' many fine fellows now woo 

her, 
" You have promis'd her hand to old Drybones the 

brewer, 
11 Who by giving the public less malt and more water, 
u Means to scttJe six thousand a year on your daughter: 
11 You not only intend to give Sukey a carriage, 
" But ten thousand pounds on the day of her marriage. 
" Now, as I am contented a whisky to drive, 
" Tho' you offer him ten, Sir, I'll take her for five. 
" Now, by this prudent plan, you may save, past dis- 
pute, 
" Five thousand pounds neat, and a carriage to boot : 
u If you wish to demur on so saving a plan, Sir, 
** I'll call this day week for your positive answer — " 

Says Gripus, " You swindler, I want no demurring ! 
u That's the door — and this instant I beg you'll be 

stirring : 
" If you don't trudge, I'll send for a constable soon — ,r 
** Sir," says Jerry, I wish you a good afternoon." 
Tho' he rush'd out post-haste, ere the hall he could 
leave 
John, the bumpkin to stop him caught hold of his sleeve : 
" I hope you'll coom qfiens," says John, " thoo's so 

foomn/ ; 
€i But :'/ next time, I beg, you'll remember ma mooncy" 
" I'll stick to my word," said the wit to the clown, 
" The vc.vt turn I dine here I'll tip you a crown ; 
M And when Coo-in Gripus, that precious old ninny, 
M Lets me marry Miss Sukey — I'll give you a guinea." 



Vf4 
THE LAST RESOURCE; 

A TALE. 



W hy Nature gives stomachs to men of great learning, 
Appears an aenigma beyond all discerning. 
What's the use of a flail when there's no corn to thrash ? 
What's the use of a purse to a wit without cash ? 
What use has a man without arms for a cutlass ? 
What use can a blind lady have for a spy-glass ? 
That Nature gives wits good sharp teeth is most true : 
But of what use are teeth without victuals to chew ? 
As they can't digest thistles, or feed upon heath, 
They often die hungry, in spite of their teeth, 

A scholar for food once most sorely distress'd, 
Dispos'd of one tooth — to find work for the rest. 
He repair'd to a dentist, a rich well-fed ninny, 
Who lugg'd out his grinder, and gave him a guinea ; 
Then sold it for ten to some eminent beauty, 
Who had worn out her own tusk with hard extra duty': 
Such as crunching a lobster's claw, mumbling a cramp- 
bone, 
Or cracking a great thick unmerciful peach-stone. 
But so oft by this method the scholar got bread, 
That he sold by degrees tv^ry tooth in his head. 
When he lost this resource, as he could not eat air, 
He subsisted nine days on the sale of his hair. 
Then he sold his utensils, his bed, and his blanket, 
And in order to t^d 9 was contented to plank it : 



S75 

He disposed of his garments to get a repast — 

His cloaths he pledg'd first, and his books he pawn'd 

last. 
Now toothless and bald, when his cloaths were all 

gone, 
When he'd no books to sell, and no chattels to pawn ; 
In this dreadful dilemma, a meal to provide, 
He entreated a skinner to purchase his hide; 
But the skinner, a shrewd judge of ermine and felt, 
Refus'd of a scholar to purchase the pelt : 
Says he, " My good Sir, without joking or lying, 
11 As your hide a'nt worth tanning, it is not worth 

buying. 
•■ If you was a dog, Sir, you soon might get flay'd, 
•f Because for my trouble 1 then should get paid ; 
u But who'd take the trouble a poet to skin ? » 

" I won't buy your hide, Sir, it an't worth a pin ; 
" Keep it whole on your back, as I mean to do mine-— 
u A skin's no bad thing, when 'tis fill'd with good 

wine. 
""But I can't waste my time," to the wit says the 

skinner — 
" I must bid you good day, for I'm going to dinner.' ' 

Ah 1 little he thought, tho' so gayly he spoke, 
How dearly he soon was to pay for his joke ! 
But so great on that day was his hunger and thirst, 
That he guzzled and drank till his skin fairly burst. 
\\ hat came of the scholar, so pale and so thin ?— 
\\ hy, the tanner refusing to purchase his skin, 
Having nothing to sell, he got nothing to eat, 
And died of sheer hunger that night i n the street. 



* 4 



VERSES 

UPON 

A PRIZE EPIGRAMMATIC THEME, 

GIVEN CUT AT WESTMINSTER SCHOOL, BY DR. SMITH* 

M Labor ipse juvat." — Labour itself may please,. 



No. L 

LABOR ipse juvat, 
^L/ries Madge to her servant, " You brazen young 
slut, 
M Your indolence drives me half crazy ; 
" In the house of correction you ought to be shut, 
,f You are now grown so saucy and lazy. 

•* When I want you to knit, or sit down to your 
wheel, 

<c You exclaim, you're too weak for hard labour:. 
66 And yet no fatigue you acknowledge to feel, 

" When you dance to the pipe and the tabor. 

" Why, this dancing all night, slut, is much harder 
work 

" Than sitting at home to make linen !" 
u 'Tis true, Ma'am," (retorted the girl with a smirk,. 

Who was fonder of dancing than spinning.) 

u But no cross old mistress to lecture and tease,. 

" The greatest fatigue is worth seizing: 
" The drudgery of dancing proves exquisite ease* 

M And labour itself becomes pleasing." 



277 



Xo. IT.* 

The little squirrel) when the bells he rings t 

Hr pleasure to himself by labour brings. 

Smedly inv*. W. W. Wynne fecit. 



UPON THE FOREGOING EPIGRAM. 
No. III. 

Smedly and Wynne, two scholars rare ! 

Clubb'd for a couplet, vile enough /// 
'Twas pleasant that so wise a pair 

Should labour to produce such stuff. 



No. IV. 

When we labour to ease those who languish in pain, 
Ah ! what pleasure it is not to labour in vain ! 



No. V. 

You r re a Cynic, so harsh, so severe, and censorious, 
To be pleasant to you, would be truly laborious. 

* Why this exquisite Production was rewarded with a 
silver four-pence, equal in value to five guineas, I leave the 
world to coniecture. 



n 5 



27S 

EPIGRAM.* 



JL his dog of a Doctor, I own, was at fault, 
When he smelt not the savour of true Attic salt : 
Past doubt, a right odour your verses exhal'd, 
Tho' in nosing out wit his olfactories faii'd. 
Yet let not his sentence your peace discompose, 
Nor charge on your head the defects of his nose : 
No wit in his senses much satire would waste 
On a critic who waves all pretensions to taste. 



UPON THE MARRIAGE OF 

Mr. BIRD, aged 70, to Miss LAMB, aged 19. 



J& tough old Bird a tender Lamb espous'd, 
Who long in Pleasure's plains had freely browz'd. 
As they returned from church, the bridegroom Cit, 
(A kind of sage-stuff' d goosz, much fam'd for wit), 
To his lascivious bride thus gayly spoke, 
And grinn'd a prologue to the coming joke : 
" This day were magic pow'rs on me conferred, 
*' For I have chang'd a Beast into a Bird." 

* An occasional copy of verses being presented to Dr. 
Smith by one of the boys at Westminster School, the Doc- 
tor, without reading them, put them to his nose, and wag- 
gishly exclainVd, he could not smell any thing like the 
Attic salt. 



279 

11 Sweet Bird !" cries Lamb, u I grant your pow'is 
are great, 
u And when you married me, I chang'd my state. 
" Tho' to no hocus-pocus I aspire, 
" And ne'er expect to set the Thames on fire; 
11 Yet, as good actions should be paid in kind, 
" And one good turn the like deserves to find, 
" I'll work a metamorphosis as strange— 
11 And soon into a Beast my Bird shall change." 



EPIGRAM 

ON 

CLARA's intended MARRIAGE with a FOP. 



jjl ou think there's malice in the voice 
That execrates your marriage choice ; 
And notwithstanding all I've said, 
Determine still a fop to wed. 
Clara, this rash resolve resign, 
Or disappointment must be thine : 
For fops, dear maid, with all their pride, 
Must sometimes lay their cloaths aside. 
Much as they love to be full'dress'd, 
The fools must strip, and go to rest. 
And thus I reason upon beaux- 
Pray what are fops without their cloaths ? 



n 6 



LINES 

TO 

AN UGLY PRUDE,. 

WHO RIDICULED STELLA, WHILE WEEPING FOR TKS 
LOSS OF A DOG CALLED BEAUTY. 



xv_l iss Prue, 'tis most invidious dealings 
At Stella's tenderness to jeer ; 

Your narrow haart is most unfeeling, 
To mock a sorrow so sincere. 

That you partake not of her pains, 
A selfish plea can best excuse ■;- 

The loss she now with grief sustains 
You never had the pow'r to lose. 

Still Stella, breathe your plaintive sighs^ 
Regardless of Detraction's sneers ; 

And shed from those pathetic eyes 
A flood of unaffected tears. 

Free from infraction, 'tis your duty. 

The sex's charter'd rights to keep : 
A woman,, for the loss of Beauty, 

Has ever been allow* d to weep,. 



SSI 

THE 

COMPARISON.* 



Jfejv'N grave philosophers may crack droll jokes, 
And play the wag, tho' rob'd in sable cloaks : 
St — rt with wit his pupils onceaddress'd, 
And from the skies brought down &far-fctch r d]zst. 

•* In Heav'ns blue vault two stars assume their place* 
" The fictious offspring of a swan's embrace ; 
" One Castor call'd, the other Pollux nam'd, 
" By sailors honoured, and lunarians fam'd. 
" Yet, as impatient of coeval reign, 
M From ail kind intercourse these stars refrain. 

* When- at College, the bad attendance I gave his class, 
caused Pr.ofessor St — rt much displeasure, which he boun- 
tifully manifested by the infliction of fines > these, from the 
best of motives, he augmented to a three-fold proportion. 
However, this amiable and fatherly gentleman, finding that 
mode of treatment unsuccessful, he had at length recourse 
to ridicule. Observing there was another pupil who gave 
as bad attendance as myself, and that we appeared, as if 
by design, to be alternately absent, he one day, at the close 
of the lesson, made many severe animadversions upon the 
impropriety of our behaviour j and in a vein of allegory the 
most sarcastically whimsical, compared us to the twin stars 
Castor and Pollux j in consequence of which we were ex- 
posed to much derision, and long retained the splendid 
nick-names this man of fancy, wit, and satire thus as- 
signed us. 



282 

" If Castor proudly glitters in the sphere, 

" Pollux with scorn is sure to disappear ; 

" But if proud Pollux ornaments the skies, 

" Castor indignant from the welkin flies. 

" If to sarcastic metaphors inclin'd, 

" For these twin-stars a likeness I might rind : 

" Two youths there are — 1 blush their names to 

speak — 
" Both prone to dulness, and averse to Greek ; 
c( Both students call'd (if truth thus disesteem'd) 
" They who ne'er study, students may be deem'd. 
" Between these youths (like those of Leda's brood) 
" Exists some cause of jealousy and feud ; 
" These in no course of social studies meet, 
" And from ail learned fellowship retreat : 
" These sparks, cur gloom to cheer, ne'er shine at 

once, 
" Both play, by turns, the truant and the dunce* 

*' If J s to-day his face at College shows, 

M B — t — ie shuts Homer, and a fishing goes ; 

if And if to-morrow J s his class attends, 

" B — t — ie at home carouses with his friends ; 

" Nor can the terrors of the threefold fine 

" Make in one hemisphere these planets shine. 

§€ Wit's last resource I now with grief embrace, 

" Who scorn reproof, oft tremble at disgrace ; 

" Few can the scourge of irony endure, 

" And well-tim'd ridicule a dunce may cure !** 



2S3 



TO 



PROFESSOR ST— RT,* 

ON HIS COMPARISON. 



JLdo ! if on satire thus severely bent, 
You mean by stars our lives to represent ; 
And with high flights of hieroglyphic wit 
Aim to chastise the follies we commit ; 
Our tempers shall by symbols be disclos'd, 
And all our failings stand to scorn expos'd— 
I'll grant a true astrologer might trace 
Such faults in stars as mark the human race ; 
I'll grant in Castor's conduct may be shown 
Some errors correspondent with my own. 
I'm an unsettled spark, like him, God wot ! 
And very often blink when I should not ; 
That I don't always shine, must be alio w'd, 
And, Heav'n knows ! often I'm behind a cloud ; 
Star like, I rise and set both morn and night, 
And when the moons not fully appear most bright. 
Thus far my character the skies unfold ; 
Nor is your own less easy to be told. 
Searching, to trace it out, the zodiac round, 
In Ursa Major I the likeness found ; 
Never was metaphor more just, more true ! 
The world contains no greater Bear than you. 

* I hope the worthy Professor, whom I sincerely respect 
and esteem, will receive these little retaliations with his ac- 
customed good humour, as they are only meant in badinage > 
and not designed to detract from his acknowledged merit. 



284 

TO THE SAME. 

W hen witfi coelestial wit you next assail*. 
Employ no simile but Scorpio's tail: 
His sting your pen with venom might anoint, 
And to your dull blunt verses yield some point:., 



TO THE SAME. 

itooR Bruin now finds, as the old fable sings, 

That bees, when provok'd, can make use of their stings* 

He thought from the hive all his terrors were flown,. 

And concluded at jnost to encounter a drone ; 

But the ground proving slipp'ry, cost Bruin a fall, 

And while searching for honey, he stumbled on gall. 



HOW TO FIND A MAN AT HOME. 



J-saac House, an old wag much addicted to pun, 
"Was pursu'd night and day by Tom Garret, a dun : 
\et tho' still at his door he kick' d- up such a route, 
Let him call when he would, House was sure to be out ; 
For his servant, Dick Hall, taught to lie from his youth,. 
To a dun never utter'd one sentence of truth, 
Except (when returning his bill having read it) 
He told him, his master must have longer credit. 
But at last by sly Garret poor Hall was outwitted ; 
For disguis'd like a postman, the dun got admitted \ 



S85 

Found his debtor at breakfast, lugg'd out his account, 

And requested him straight to discharge the amount. 

House, thus caught by surprise, turu'd as pale as a sheet, 

Then began in great wrath his poor footman to beat; 

Crying^ "Zounds! you've performed a most marvel- 
lous thing 

l< In a gentleman's parlour a Garret to bring : 

M Why, you marplotting, thickheaded, blundering 
clown ! 

*• You have turn'd in a moment a House upside down ; 

11 But to set things to rights, when I've paid oft their 
scores, 

M Hall and Garret together shall march out of doors'* • 



LINES 

TO AN 

EGOTIST AND VAIN-BOASTEK; 

Occasioned by the Hundred and Eightieth Repetition of the 
Manner in which he blew up an Enemy's Fort, 



HINT FIRST. 

Why boasteth thou thyself, thou Tyrant t that thou canst 
do mischief V 



''Ioy'd by the music of a matchless lyre, 
Great Alexander once, 'tis said, grew vain ; 
And while Timotheus touch'd the magic wire, 
" Fcuerhtall his battles three times o'er ao-am.'* 



S8<5 

But you, more mathematically brave. 
Sixty times thrice the vanquish 'd put to flight ; 

And no assistance from musicians crave, 

To make you o'er your grog renew the right. 

To boast your prowess, and our praise to court, 
You have not left one single stone wit urn' d, 

Spare us th' eternal blowing up this fort, 
Or in it we shall pray to see thee burn'd* 



HINT SECOND. 

LIKE the frog in the fable, your vain-glorious nature 
Bids you strive, by much puffing, to make yourself 

greater. 
As you're weak as this frog, and as anxious for fame, 
Pigmy boaster, your fate will no doubt be the same : 
You're so swoln with self-praise, Sir, we now hope 

and trust, 
That the next puff you take — your vile carcass may 

burst. 



THE 

RETORT COURTEOUS. 



ivJ_iss Pert, the most rude of satirical creatures, 
Declar'd her intention to paint a queer phiz ; 

To take from her friends all their ugliest features, 
And make the whole company club for a Quiz. 



<2S7 

M First give me the noseof Adolphus," she cries, 
11 That looks like a kidney-potatoe dy'd red; 

u Miss Anna Maria's two squinting blear eyes, 

" And the wen that projects from Penelope's head. 

;( With Brace's grim smile blend old Thurlow's stern 
frown ; 
11 To Itussel's bush-brows add the cheek-mole of 
Steers ; 
u The high wrinkled sugar-loaf forehead of Brown, 
u And Roache's two flexible assinine ears. 

" Jane's honeycomb teeth, and Moggy's high cheek, 
" Eliza's thick lips, and Matilda's black skin. 

M There remains but another queer feature to seek, 
" Need I say, Mr. Sharp, 'tis your nut-cracking 
chin. 

" Apelles might envy the face I have made, 

" In the temple of Taste shall my model be hung—" 

Quoth Sharp, " First complete it, sarcastical jade, 
11 It wants nothing now but your insolent tongue." 



FRENCH EPIGRAM. 



JLd' homme a vraiment mille defauts, 
" Et chez lui le merite est rare ; 
fc< L' homme est inconstant, 1' homme est faux, 
" L'homme est jaloux, l'homme est bizarre : 



$8& 

u II est vain et capricieux, 

" Indiscret, vclage, incommode ; 
f * Mais il faut bien faute de mieux 

" Que la femme s'en accommode." 

IMITATED. 

THAT men are odious wretches women swear* 
Their crimes are manifold, their virtues rare ; 
Men are inconstant, cruel, jealous, lewd, 
Perfidious, selfish, arrogant, and rude. 
Yet culprits as they are, and void of praise, 
Women put up with all their evil ways. 
For want of worthier friends, to them they talk— 
With them they eat and drink, and ride and walk— • 
With them they dance and sing, and court, and wed,. 
And sometimes condescend to go to bed* 

THE SAME PARODIED. 

WOMEN are false, ungenerous, unkind, 
Capricious, jealous, fickle as the wind ; 
Coquettish, pert, pufPd up with vain conceit,. 
Provoking, petulant, and indiscreet. 
Yet still for want of company more fit, 
Men to put up w r ith women must submits 



« TO ERR IS HUMAN." 



Wlf sinful mortals go astray 
From Virtue's paths and Reason's way 
To each absurd vagary,. 



Is most undoubtedly because, 

'Tis clearly prov'd by Nature's laws, 

*< Humanum est errare." 

A minister, whose blundering head 
A nation hath to ruin led, 

Who thought him wise and wary, 
Consoles the world with this excuse, 
For weakness, folly, and abuse, 

<c Humanum est errare." 

A nabob, who, by daring stealth, 
Amass'd immensity oF wealth 
Near Ganges or Cauvery, 
To palliate his splendid crime 
Declares, in that relaxing clime, 

u Humanum est errare." 

A rake, compos'd of Lust's loose clay, 
Who to unlicenc'd love gave way 

With poor deluded Mary, 
To herwrong'd sire's vindictive sword 
Could but this cool response afford, 

" Humanum est errare." 

Scarce has the husband wip'd the knife 
With which he stabb'cl a virtuous wife, 

For wrongs imaginary, 
Before her innocence appears, 
And he confesses by his tears, 

M Humanum est errare.'' 



A sultan's mandate to obey, 

With expedition trots away 

The faithful emissary ; 



290 

Thro' haste, a slight mistake is made, 
i wrong man's heac 
" Humanum est errare." 



The fool cuts off the wrong man's head 



If with your watch a thief you find, 
You raise a mob — for in your mind 

Ducking is necessary ; 
But the poor rogue's mistake is shown, 
He took your pocket for his own — 

Ci Humanum est errare." 

Each most facetious Irish soul, 
Whose blunders sound to us so droll, 

In Cork or Tipperary, 
Embraces still the same defence, 
And says, with greater show of sense, 

u Humanum est errare.' 5 

For crimes to country, friend, or King, 
When rogues are told they ought to swing. 

Their answers never vary ; 
Too harden' d to repent and pray, 
They think 'tis quite enough to say, 

" Humanum est errare*'* 



TO 

HOPE. 



JImpostor, than witchcraft more fell, 

Who can make men believe black is white ! 

Traitor Hope, now I know thee too well, 
Thy deceptions are all brought to light ! % 



291 



Quick, begone! tliou most treacherous guest ! 

Of my heart I'll now show thee the door ; 
For the last hope now lodg'd in my breast, 

Is never to hope any more. 



K 

DRUNKARD'S APOLOGY.* 

*' Ses grands yeux blcux, 
" Remplis sans cesse 

" D'humides feux, 
'* Portent I ivressc 

u Dans tous les sens " 



iviLANY call drunkenness a crime, 

Some swear 'tis no offence ; 
Because they drink from morn till night 

By way of felf-defence. 

By one most aggra:afing look, 

Sans provocation given, 
To sheer hard drinking poor Jem Cooke 

Reluctantly was driven. 

* An officer of great vivacity and humour, being once 
pertly reprimanded by a handsome flirt for appearing before 
her in a state of intoxication, said coolly, she was the last 
person in the world who had any right to complain of it, as 
her aggravating looks had driven him to hard drinking. 



Q92 

So when we meet him reeling home. 

We pity his despair ; 
Alas ! he would be sober still 

If Betsey was less fair. 

When age her beauty hath despoil'd, 
And marr'd each youthful grace ; 

When shrivell'd is each round plump limb 5 
And wrinkled is her face. 

When those provoking large blue eyes 

Deep in her head are sunk, 
Cooke of his passion shall be cur'd, 

And leave off getting drunk. 

Betsey, while I record this truth 

I hope you won't grow vain ; 
But I'll confess your sweet arch looks 

Intoxicate my brain. 

Yet if to brutifj mankind, 

Like Circe you aspire, 
Perform such jobs while youth hath ptfw'if 

To aggravate desire. 

Lovers grow sober, calm, and cool, 

When beauty is no more ; 
Nor aggravated are by looks 

Of women at fourscore* 



yiNlS* 



Mfc-^l M. Allen, Printer, Pnterno*ter«R©w« 






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